


Season of Sorrow

by Griddlebone



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Complete, Dark, Drama, F/M, Imprisonment, Rape/Non-con References, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-14
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griddlebone/pseuds/Griddlebone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing her family and her village was just the beginning. Darkfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comment moderation is on for this story due to certain comments I received in the past. All comments that are in good taste will be approved.

Sango knelt before the lord, beside her fellow demon slayers. She was brimming with pride. This was Kohaku's first fight as a true demon slayer… Her enthusiasm dimmed just a bit when she heard the lord speak derisively of bringing a young woman and a mere boy into battle – though she was equally pleased to hear her father's praise.

They _were_ good, maybe even the best. And tonight they would have a chance to prove it.

"See, Kohaku?" she prodded quietly, "Do your best."

He was muttering something under his breath, but she did not hear it and would not hear of it. She knew he was being self-deprecating again. He was always so unsure of himself; she found it rather endearing.

The sky was rapidly growing darker; the guards informed them that this was the time when the creature attacked, and took up positions around the outskirts of the courtyard, well away from where the fighting would take place.

For a few tense moments, Sango wondered if the stories were just that – stories. And then the courtyard was alive with shouts, and the spider demon appeared above them.

It was huge, and looked vicious, but Sango was calm and confident. There were many slayers and only one demon, and all of the slayers had been handpicked, the best of the village. Together, they would destroy it, and collect their reward.

She dodged the mass of silk it threw at them, was vaguely aware of Kohaku getting tangled in the strands, noted one of the others hastening to his assistance. She kept her eyes trained on the demon, waiting for her chance. The other slayers took the offensive, pinning the demon down.

Her chance…

"Got it!" Sango shouted, and threw her Hiraikotsu.

The blow knocked the demon back and took off two of its legs. Sango smiled as the slayers moved in to finish the job.

Her smile turned into a frown almost as soon as it crossed her face. Something wasn't right. The entire fight had been too easy. That spider was too weak for its size…

And then…

Kohaku's chain scythe arced through the air…

Heads flew…

Her comrades…

The blade planted itself firmly in…

In…

And Sango was screaming. "Father!"

She'd thought that somehow something had gotten ahold of Kohaku and stolen his weapon, could not believe that her baby brother could… could…

But when she turned, there was no denying it. He held the blade in his hands. He ignored the blood that dripped from the tip: Father's blood. Sango shook with fear and rage.

"Kohaku!" He did not respond to her call, and threw the chain scythe again.

The blade flew through the air, coming close enough to slice the ties that held her mask in place. He didn't recognize her. He readied the blade for another attack.

Sango drew her sword and charged headlong toward him, heedless of the way the chain tangled around her weapon. She caught hold of it and yanked, throwing Kohaku off balance.

He drew his sword in turn. Their weapons clashed, and Sango noticed something. A thread. A silken thread, attached to her brother's neck.

She looked over her shoulder, to where the lord and the guards were. Why weren't they intervening?

She shuddered. The lord… he had spider fangs.

_He_ was the real demon.

If she killed him, Kohaku would be freed from the spell.

Grunting, she shook free of the chain, threw her sword away, and charged toward the lord. Along the way she grabbed the Hiraikotsu from where she had left it, raising the weapon as she ran –

The lord gave a lopsided, half-interested grin. "She's gone mad. Kill her."

Spears flew at her, whistling as they soared, landing against her armor with dull thudding sounds. What felled her was a sudden agony that knifed through her back and burst outward. She staggered to a stop, knowing it was Kohaku's chain scythe, refusing to believe…

She turned, as if in slow motion, to see her brother… His expression was one of horror. He had become her brother again.

She watched, her vision fading, as the guards fired a volley of arrows into her baby brother.

She crawled to his side, whispering words of comfort as her life bled out through the wound in her back.

She didn't even feel it as more arrows hit home.

Everything was already fading away.

 

Pain…

There was nothing in the world but pain…

And then, there was nothing at all…

 

Sango came awake, gasping for breath. A dream. It must have been a dream. It _had_ to have been a dream. Her family… they couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. She refused to believe…

She noticed absently that it was still dark, not yet morning, while the realization slowly processed in her mind: she was still struggling to breathe because there was _no air_.

Only the stench of bodies just beginning to rot, and the peculiar tainted smell of graveyard soil, creeping in around her.

A grave…

_My_ grave…

Her chest heaved; she panicked, disoriented and unsure which way was up. Her eyes and lungs burned. _Air_…

She clawed at the dirt, seeking the surface, until her fingers were raw and bleeding. Some of the blood wasn't hers. She refused to wonder where it had come from.

She forced her way up and up until there was no more dirt and her arms and head came free. She rested her head against the earth, glad to feel the horrible claustrophobia dissipate even as she began to realize the extent of her own injuries.

There were graves all around. The rest of her party. Father, brother…

The blood was probably her own, she reflected dourly.

There was a man nearby, a young man, who had seen her haul herself from the depths of her own grave. She imagined she heard him shouting for assistance, but the world faded around her.

 

The servants made her aware, when she woke, that it was the Lord Kagewaki himself that had come upon her as she crawled from her grave, and that she should be glad of the honor he had done her by saving her life.

She lay listlessly on her futon and rather wished she had died alongside the rest of her family. It did not seem a great honor that she had survived and must now bear the weight of avenging her brother and father.

Sometime later, she was not quite sure how _much_ later as the flow of time seemed to have eluded her ever since she had dug her way out of her grave, she found herself in the presence of not only the servants who had been charged with her care, but of the castle lord himself. Somewhere in the intervening time, someone had made sure she was aware that this Lord Kagewaki was _not_ the lord that had allowed her brother to slay her comrades, but rather his son.

The lord himself had turned out to be the demon. His son had realized the deception and seen fit to remove the imposter's head. Just moments too late, in fact. Sango almost wanted to laugh. She knew it had been too easy…

One of the servants prodded her shoulder, hard. "Hey! Why aren't you listening to the master?"

Sango groaned.

"Enough," the young man said, his voice oddly stern. "Leave us be. I wish to speak to her, alone."

While a few moments ago time might have seemed to flow startlingly quickly around her, she found that she was growing stronger, and ever so slightly more focused. It was easier to focus without the servants milling around, and when she had only one voice to listen to.

"Your companions called you Sango, did they not?" he asked, pleasantly enough.

She tried to nod, but was stopped by searing pain in her back that was only exacerbated by twisting her neck to look at the young lord. Her back. Of course. That was where the chain scythe had landed… the wound was what had so very nearly killed her.

It seemed he understood, despite her difficulties. "I am sorry for your father, your brother, your companions…"

Slowly, she managed to form thoughts, but the words could not quite reach her mouth. _Why… Why did this happen?_

He was looking at her, his expression an odd mixture of worry, interest, and… something else. She wondered what he thought of her…

There was a noise outside, a rustling in the bushes. The lord excused himself and left her alone.

Left to her own devices, Sango drifted.

 

Lord Kagewaki was talking to someone, outside her room. Sango could hear his voice, but struggled to make out the words.

She was dazed, but something about the discussion caught her attention. They were talking about _demon slayers_. A _village_ of demon slayers. There was only _one_ village of demon slayers.

Sango was on her feet in an instant, her fingers clawing at the screen, shoving the door open. The young lord was talking to a man wearing a baboon's pelt. "The demon slayers," she gasped. "What did you say?"

The baboon's face obscured the man's, though she could see cold eyes glittering in the darkness behind the ape mask. "The village of demon slayers has been destroyed," replied the man, his voice calm.

"That's not possible!" She was shaking, either with rage or weakness, clinging to the doorframe to remain upright.

"It is."

"Naraku!" Kagewaki's voice sounded like a hiss. "Do not upset the girl. She was nearly killed and is still recovering."

The man in the baboon pelt, who must have been Naraku, ignored his lord's orders. "It is possible," he said quietly. "It was no human that did the deed, but a demon. An inugami called InuYasha. He sought shards of the Shikon Jewel."

Sango remembered with horror that she had been the one that had brought a Shikon shard to the village, after finding it among the remains of a demon she had slain. "That's… not possible," she protested weakly. The demon slayers were strong. The village was their stronghold.

But they had sent their best warriors away.

If the demon had come seeking Shikon shards, it had come because of _her_. If this man spoke the truth, it was _all her fault_.

"I regret to say that I witnessed the deed, though I was too far away to assist," Naraku added. "But I would recognize that demon anywhere, and I am certain it was he –"

"I'll kill him," she growled, frightened at the ferocity in her own voice. "I must avenge my people –"

She swooned then, lightheaded from standing up so quickly and so long.

The young lord was quick to catch her, murmuring something about how she needed rest.

He was lying. She did not need rest, she needed -

 

Sango slept, and dreamt of violence.

InuYasha… Inugami… Inu …

Must….

Kill… kill… _kill_…

It became a mantra, repeating over and over and over again, punctuating real and imagined memories of death and destruction. Father, brother, friends, comrades – all –

Her eyes shot open, sleep dissipating as nausea rose in her belly. She sat up just in time to vomit beside the futon. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth even as she coughed, hacking on the last of the bile.

"…Lady Sango?" It was the young lord's voice, just beyond the paper door.

"It's nothing," she growled, her voice hoarse. She wiped away the blood and sputum with the sleeve of her yukata. "I'm fine."

She heard footsteps moving away in the hall and laid back down, not bothering to clean up the mess she had made. She couldn't smell the stench anyway.

She didn't see Lord Kagewaki's lips curl into a smile.

 

A short infinity later, as night was falling and the room grew steadily darker, Lord Kagewaki returned to check on her.

She did not protest as he helped her sit up, nor did she speak when he slipped the robe from her shoulders and let it fall around her waist.

Her bandages were soaked with blood.

She allowed him to change the bandages, and did not miss the appreciative way his eyes roamed over her body.

She was silent as his lips curled into a smile, as his hand slipped between her thighs. She knew what he wanted, and knew she would let him have it.

"I will give you whatever aid you require." His words were empty. She'd have done this regardless – she was too weak to resist.

She knew without words that he would help her in any way that he could.

If this was all he asked in return, well…

She couldn't feel anymore, anyway.

So she lay beneath him, distant and unmoving, as he rutted with the dying husk of her body. And, after the deed was done, she let him lie beside her, and pretended that the bleeding had stopped.

"You're sure this is what you must do?"

"Yes," she wheezed, weakly, "I must avenge my village no matter the cost."

His hand played idly across her chest; she had never felt so dead inside.

"I must slay the demon that has caused all this trouble," she added, though he had made no protest.

"I understand your desire for revenge," he said, handing over her robe, "But it might be more prudent to wait until you have healed –"

She sat up to grab at the garment and missed once, before ripping it from his grasp. She thrust her arms painfully through the sleeves, wrapped it tight around her though she saw no need for modesty at this point. No need for truth, either. "No. It's best to go now, while the trail is still fresh. I'm strong enough to fight, still."

"If you survive," he said, his tone deadly serious, "You are always welcome in my castle."

Sango lay back against the mat, her eyes closed and each breath coming hard. _If you survive_…

Honor was a small price to pay for vengeance.

She didn't have long to live, anyway.

She just needed to live long _enough_.

 

Each step, each breath was agony. She had hoped to draw strength from her armor and her ancestors, but pride could only take her so far. Sango huddled beneath a tree and wished for death.

"Already dead? Such a pity," commented the baboon-man Naraku.

Sango almost wished that he had not been chosen to accompany her. His presence was the final price of her vengeance, and she accepted it as she had accepted everything that came before. Calmly, as if to hide her inner struggle for strength – and against the urge to strangle him - she informed him, "Until I slay that demon Inuyasha, I will not die."

They both knew it was a lie. No matter what she'd told Lord Kagewaki, she would not be walking away from this battle, if she even made it to the battlefield. At this rate, things were looking grim.

She decided that he was smirking at her underneath that baboon mask, and staggered to her feet, putting most of her weight on the Hiraikotsu in order to stand. It was almost blasphemous, to use such a prized possession as a mere walking stick, but there was no way she would make it without aid. She wasn't sure if she would be able to fight, or would merely fall over dead at the bastard's feet.

Naraku led the way, with Sango hobbling after him, praying silently that her body would survive long enough to exact revenge. After only a short distance, her steps slowed. It was so hard to keep moving…

Sango grunted as she hit the ground. If not for the support of the Hiraikotsu, she would have fallen on her face.

"Are you in pain, Sango?"

She refused to give him an answer, and swore under her breath instead.

He continued despite her lack of response. "It would be a pity if you died on the way," he mused. "Shall we try it out?"

She actually had to look at him, disgusting _thing_ that he was, to see what he was going on about. When she did, her eyes went wide. A Shikon fragment!

"W-where did you get that?" she demanded, surprised and somewhat pleased to discover that her voice was still working even though her legs were not.

He shrugged off her accusing tone. "I obtained it a long time ago. I'm going to let you borrow it."

She scowled in displeasure at the suggestion; no, it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. And she didn't like it. Shikon shards were tainted, and could only be used for evil. Everyone that knew anything about the jewel knew that…

"The Shikon no Tama is thought to be evil by nature," he continued, "But there are those that can use its power for good. For example, I can use this shard to heal your wounds."

Of course! If he could purify the shard, the evil intent should be removed. She glowered skeptically at him, but could see nothing beyond that baboon mask. Did she trust Naraku to be able to do such a thing? Could she afford _not_ to trust him? He was offering her a chance at life, at revenge…

"I accept your offer," she managed, finally. She would have preferred to do this on her own… but since she could not…

"I will place the shard against the wound in your back," he explained, "So that it may best heal your injuries and bring you strength for your fight. After all, my lord would be most displeased with me were I to simply stand by and let you die."

She fumbled with the clasps of her armor, but somehow managed to get it open enough for him to get the shard in place. And when he did…

Sango swooned.

Pain…

_There was no pain_…

He had told the truth; surely this was proof that the Shikon no Tama could be used for good as well as evil. Sango hauled herself to her feet, barely leaning against the Hiraikotsu. She felt good enough to fight. She stared at her hands, clenched around her weapon, and a smile slowly crept onto her face.

 

Her injuries must have addled her wits. Sango found herself increasingly confused and frustrated at her inability to remember the way back to her ancestral home; luckily, Naraku seemed to remember the way, and led without a word.

It was a long time before Sango saw anything that looked familiar. She was pleased to see that they were close to her village, but less pleased that she would soon see the destruction for herself. Her home, everything she had ever known, gone in the same night.

Sango steeled herself for the sight, but Naraku had stopped moving when they were still some distance from the village. He seemed to be listening for something, but she couldn't make out what it might be.

"I hear voices," he said after a moment. "I believe we have already found the one you seek. But you had best be careful. This demon travels with a dark priestess. They may prove to be formidable foes."

"I'll take them both down," Sango replied. She was really feeling quite confident. She had not felt so strong in a long time, though she knew she had Naraku's Shikon shard to thank for it.

Naraku was quiet then, and gestured her forward.

Sango took the invitation and stepped forward. If she strained hard, she could hear the voices, too. They did not seem to be aware of her presence.

She pulled her mask into place, readied the Hiraikotsu, took a deep breath, and threw the weapon as hard as she could. She was pleased to see that she still had the strength to send the bone boomerang hurtling through anything in its path. Trees shattered, sending logs, splinters, and leaves in every direction as the massive bone flew toward its goal.

She ran after her weapon, following the path it had created, and retrieved it as it flew back toward her.

"So you're that bastard, Inuyasha," she shouted, "I'll exterminate you!"

Naraku had not been quite right about the situation. There were four travelers, instead of the two that he had mentioned. One was a woman in extremely peculiar garb, who must have been the dark priestess he had spoken of, but there were two other companions: a Buddhist monk and what looked to be a young kitsune. A tall, human-looking creature, with long silver hair and claw-tipped fingers, stood nearby, grousing about some thing or another.

The sight chilled her blood.

Father always said that the most fearsome demons are those which can take human shape…

When she had heard the word inugami, she had expected what the name implied: a dog demon. But something wasn't quite right about this supposed inugami. He looked like a human, but his features were unrefined. He still had dog-ears and fangs, and there were claws on his fingertips. She would almost have ventured to say that this was a half-demon, and not even a full-blood at all. It would go a long way toward explaining that strange appearance, as well as how he could so easily be controlled.

The whole thing might be a fascinating situation, if they hadn't destroyed her village and slain her kin. She couldn't afford to waste time asking questions, and hurled the Hiraikotsu at them again before they had time to react.

The silver-haired man drew a sword to fend off her attack; the sword grew much larger as he drew it from the sheath, and was easily able to block the Hiraikotsu. It was definitely a demon blade. He blocked the attack, but it wasn't enough to throw it off its flight path, and the boomerang returned to her yet again.

His companions seemed surprised that her attack had pushed him back and thrown him off balance. Well, they obviously had never fought against a trained demon slayer before. Her face hidden beneath her mask, Sango smiled.

"I guess this means we can't talk things over," growled the demon. "Why the fuck are you attacking _me_?"

"Shut up, demon!" She took aim and threw again. "I seek revenge for all the villagers you've slain!"

Inuyasha dodged her throw, shouting something about his innocence, but Sango was paying more attention to the monk and the dark priestess. The monk was doing something suspicious with his hand. Did he think to purify her? He removed the covering from his right hand – what was _that_ about? – and took aim toward the Hiraikotsu… only to hastily replace the covering, swearing, when a group of large insects emerged nearby.

She had never seen such insects before, and knew that they had to be demonic in nature, but was not about to forsake the gift of their presence.

The half-demon she was fighting suddenly looked a great deal more worried. "Naraku!"

They must have seen the baboon man behind her, or some telltale sign of his presence. Sango did not care, except that they seemed to have forgotten who their real opponent was.

"Take your punishment from the slayer, like a good dog," Naraku chuckled.

She might have been content to let them have their back-and-forth, using their discussion as a distraction while she sought another way to gain the upper hand, but when Inuyasha shouted that the battle would be decided here and now and lunged for Naraku, Sango intervened. She stepped to the side to throw the Hiraikotsu and felt a twinge in her back.

Pain…subdued, and far away.

"Finish him quickly, Sango. The jewel's pain canceling effect won't last much longer," Naraku urged.

He didn't need to tell her that; she could feel her strength waning already, and cursed. She threw the Hiraikotsu again. Her aim was perfect, but the demon had lightning reflexes and managed to dodge yet again. And then he was going after Naraku – again.

Furious, Sango drew her chain, and caught him with it. "Your opponent is _me_," she snarled, throwing him to the ground. The thud of his body against the earth was satisfying. Now she had but to make it _permanent_.

He shook free of the chain and was on his feet in an instant, swearing and threatening to come back and kill her first if she kept bothering him.

"Try, then," she urged, grabbing the Hiraikotsu out of the air along its return path. She threw again, but this time she was ready for his block, and was already reaching for her scent-beads as his sword collided with her weapon. He was a dog demon, at least partly so, and scent should have a powerful effect on him.

She needed an advantage, any advantage. This half-demon, this Inuyasha, was stronger than any full demon she had encountered.

But she had been trained well, and had been correct in her assumption that the poisonous, scented powder would have an adverse effect on one such as him. He coughed, covering his mouth and nose as best he could to keep the scent from overwhelming him.

She took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to look around. The priestess and kitsune were still lurking around nearby, but the monk had disappeared. She could hear his voice behind her – and Naraku's _Damn it._

She couldn't protect him _and_ fight an enemy this powerful. He would have to hold his own against the monk, or die trying. She needed to keep all of her attention on this half-demon, or she risked being killed before she could exact her revenge.

If I don't finish him soon… I'll die anyway…

Pain lanced through her back, a steadily increasing flow of agony that the Shikon shard could no longer repress. She had precious little time to deal with it; if she did not hurry, Inuyasha would recover from the scent-beads and would be after her again.

She plunged the Hiraikotsu into the earth and drew her chain again. He was fast, and she needed a way to slow him down, or, better yet, keep him from moving at all. Sango smiled coldly, and threw the chain again. It was a reckless throw, lacking her usual precision, but intended to entangle and trap rather than make a precise grab.

She had managed to get his hands away from his face, then gave a good yank. He hit the ground hard, and swore. Before he had a chance to recover, Sango charged in, drawing her sword as she went.

"Die!" she screamed. Sword at the ready, she kicked him hard enough to crack the bones in her foot and send him rolling onto his back. She heard the crack and knew there ought to be pain with it, but the exhilaration of the kill made her blissfully numb. She pressed her foot against his throat, grinding the heel of her boot against the soft flesh just to hear him choke.

The sword glinted faintly, the point aimed for his heart –

Sango grunted and stumbled forward, tripping over the half-demon and losing her grip on the sword. Pain _blossomed_ from her back, spreading rapidly through her body in a wave of agony that settled into a dull and periodic throb.

Clawed fingers closed around her ankle and squeezed. Something popped.

Aware that an arrow was protruding from her back, she kicked hard at the hand that gripped her, and managed to break free. She scrambled onto her feet and made a dash for the Hiraikotsu.

She'd been a fool to assume that the priestess wouldn't make a move until the demon lay dead.

And even now, he was on his feet; the last of the poison smoke had long since dissipated. Her only hope was the chain. She sheathed her sword as quickly as possible, and hefted her weapon into a ready stance just as the demon began his charge.

Desperately, she hurled the Hiraikotsu at him. She hoped that her aim was true, even as her crushed ankle twinged and nearly gave way beneath her, and that the scent from the beads would have dulled his senses enough that the blow would land.

It seemed that luck was not on her side, for he was able to dodge her throw. She lunged for the chain, still tangled around the demon, her fingers slipping against the metal but finally finding purchase. As soon as she had a grip, she yanked as hard as her overtaxed muscles would allow.

The demon swore as he hit the ground, thrown off balance by her pull, and Sango was not about to make the same mistake twice; she drew her sword even before the Hiraikotsu returned, ducked low, and charged. He lay only a few steps away, and had not yet fully come to a stop from his tumble. With a wordless shriek of rage, Sango sliced his throat open.

Blood fountained from the gaping wound.

Sango turned grimly to the priestess, who was screaming the half-demon's name over and over. It sounded as if she had believed her companion to be invincible, or at least immortal.

It was easy work to dispatch her; one thrust of the sword through her heart was more than enough. The strange young woman did not even fight back or try to escape. Sango felt no joy in her victory. In fact, she was reasonably certain that she was dying.

The priestess' arrow still protruded from her back, adding its own pain to her existing wounds.

Sango pulled the mask from her face, breathing in air rank with the stench of death.

She turned, scanning the trees. _The kitsune… and the monk…_

The Shikon shard popped out of her back.

Sango cried out in agony.

Her legs could no longer support her weight. She collapsed, hitting the ground with a sick, boneless thud.

_The shard…! Am I… dying?_


	2. Chapter 2

Sango woke from the dark, dreamless sleep of the dead with a faint feeling of regret. Her heart beat sluggishly in her chest, and her breaths were cramped by bandages wrapped tightly around her torso. Her eyes drifted open and stared sightlessly upward until her vision began to clear. It took her a long time to realize that the ceiling she was staring at was familiar; she had been in this room before.

This was the room where she had been left to heal, in Kagewaki's castle. She wondered for a moment if her battle against Inuyasha had been merely a dream, but her deteriorated condition told her it had really happened, which begged the question...

_How did I get back here?_

Even her mind felt slow, sluggishly struggling to connect thoughts or to piece together what had happened. Had Naraku brought her back to this place? She could remember little of the past few days, little beyond the pain of her injuries. Through the haze of pain, she was almost certain that she remembered embarking on a doomed journey to her village in search of vengeance, and -

"You're awake."

She had not even realized that she was not alone. Vaguely, she recognized that it was Lord Kagewaki who sat beside her, and that he had continued speaking while she wondered if he was truly there, or simply some fevered imagining.

" – But I will see to it that you receive the care you need, until you are well again."

"Thank you," she croaked, in a voice she barely recognized as her own. Her mouth would not form the syllables of his name. He did not seem to mind the informality.

"You should rest," he urged. It was almost as if he sensed the deep wave of exhaustion that had risen up, threatening to overwhelm her. "I will send servants with food and water, and a healer to see to your wounds."

His words fell on deaf ears, for Sango was already drifting away.

 

Some time later, Sango awoke again, this time to the sensation that her body was on fire. Her skin tingled and itched and burned around each of her numerous injuries; she knew it was a sign that she was, against all odds, healing. She realized, with no small amount of disgust, that she might survive this. And she hated it. Why should she live while all of her comrades died? Her hard-won vengeance mattered little if she were to end up all alone, unable to join her friends and family in the underworld.

She had planned to die... but death now seemed out of reach. There was suicide, of course, but demon slayers were not so weak or easily dishonored as to resort to such measures. Given no real choice, she began to collect herself.

She still lacked the strength to move, but she felt more aware than before. When she yearned for the bleak emptiness that had taken her earlier, it would not come. It might take days, or even weeks, of recovery, but she no longer felt the touch of death.

There was no sign of Lord Kagewaki. All around was only the silence of emptiness. It occurred to her that perhaps it was late at night. It was certainly dark enough, the room being lit by only a single candle in the corner.

She lay in silence and stared at the ceiling and felt a vague sense of unease shiver across her skin.

 

Lord Kagewaki visited her every day after that, and brought memories with him. She remembered his kindness, and felt a small smile form on her lips. She recalled his abuse of her body, and hated him, but could not quite reconcile the two memories. Which was closer to the true Kagewaki, she would wonder idly after he had left, the kind and gentle young man, or the one that ruthlessly took whatever he wanted?

His next visit saw her inching toward recovery, but no closer to the answer she sought. As before, he sat beside her and spoke quietly, informing her of inconsequential things and inquiring after the quality of her care. Sango lay on her futon and only half listened, even though Kagewaki held her hand as he spoke. Before he departed, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to her flesh, and she saw in his eyes that he wanted more. There was a hunger in those eyes that she had seen before. She did not like it one bit.

She spent the afternoon alone, mulling over the possibilities that look might entail. In the end, she decided that he had taken what he wanted once, regardless of the fact that she had been dying. The man would not hesitate to do so again. The idea made her seethe with anger, but she accepted that there was little she could do to stop him... not yet.

And so she was prepared when two women came after her evening meal had been served, armed with a great tub of unpleasantly cold water, and wash-rags with which to bathe her. They washed her where she lay, gently scrubbing, but heedless of her offended modesty. She had to admit that it felt wonderful to be clean of grime and dried blood, but a strong sense of foreboding gnawed at her gut, spurred by the servants' strange silence. She was glad they did not speak to her, for she did not trust her voice, but found it worrisome that they did not converse amongst themselves, not even to comment on the severity of her injuries.

They took her clothing with them when they left, content to leave her naked and chilled, with only a blanket to cover herself. She lay down upon the futon, feeling supremely self-conscious without even bandages to cover her wounds, and feigned sleep. She hoped that perhaps Kagewaki would leave her be if she seemed to be resting. She did not have to wait long to find out.

Kagewaki's entrance was accompanied only by the soft sound of the door sliding open and shut again, and by the steps of bare feet across the tatami mats. He came to a stop a short distance behind her and said nothing; she wondered if he was appraising the situation or simply taking stock of the damage.

She had deliberately positioned herself so that her back faced the door, in the hopes that the sight of her still-healing wounds would dissuade him from whatever course he had set. For a long time there was silence, as he stood and watched her. Something pulsed faintly in her back. She felt a twinge of discomfort and wished for bandages to bind the wound. Finally, he called her name, but she pretended not to hear and hoped he would give up and go away.

He did not leave. Instead, he crouched beside her and gently laid his hand, not on her shoulder, but on the wound in her back. His hand was cold against the heated, inflamed flesh. And when he pressed against her - agony. Her body spasmed involuntarily from the pain; she cried out, her voice rough and hoarse at once, and knew there was no way she could pretend to be unaware now. She gasped for breath, red tinging the edges of her vision.

"Are you in pain, Sango?"

She shuddered and would not answer. His hand slid down her back, trailed over her buttocks, and curved up again over the rise of her hip where it lingered for a moment. And then he pressed, urging her hips toward him and down to the floor until her spine twisted painfully and she rolled onto her back. She hissed in pain, but would not give him the satisfaction of voicing it; he knew he was hurting her, and chose to go on anyway.

She closed her eyes against the sight of him moving over her, pushing the blanket out of the way; she squeezed them ever tighter at the sudden feeling of his hand between her legs. She clamped her legs instinctively shut, muscles tightening almost painfully across her belly as fear took her. She felt him shift, looming over her, using his hand and a well-placed knee to force her legs open.

"Please... don't..." she rasped, but he gave no sign of having heard her.

There was the rustle of fabric and his robe came open; she could feel the edges of the fabric against her hips. She moved instinctively to slap him away, but her arms were weak and would not obey her, flopping uselessly to the side.

Kagewaki's fingers found her core again, probing, guiding. A moment later, he thrust inside of her, his member hot and hard and, it seemed, much too large to fit. Her body did not welcome the sudden intrusion, but he paid scant attention to her discomfort. Instead, he began moving quickly, thrusting wildly against her.

She recalled no specific pain from their last encounter, only the overwhelming numbness that went hand in hand with her injuries and the loss of everything she had ever loved. This time, the shock was enough to make her fear she might be split in two. Obviously aroused in spite of her pain - or, perhaps, she thought deliriously, because of it - Kagewaki just kept going. He slammed his hips against hers again and again, driving his length inside her to the hilt, his speed increasing as he neared his peak.

She cracked her eyes open when he finally paused. It took her a moment to realize that he had spilled his seed inside of her and was pulling out. She released a breath she had not quite realized she was holding, in a deep, shuddering sigh.

For a long moment, she thought he might stay beside her that night, as he paused to examine her. He seemed surprisingly dispassionate, considering what had just happened, but she found that she could not hold his gaze and had to look away. Shame burned inside her. In the end, Kagewaki seemed satisfied by what he saw, for he leaned close to whisper that he would return soon, and then departed.

Even though she was finally alone, sleep seemed like little more than a faraway dream. Kagewaki's quietly whispered promise to return the next night echoed in her ears, haunting her as soon as she closed her eyes. She felt again the rough harshness of his body against hers. An echoing pain throbbed in her back. She rolled onto her side to relieve the pressure, but the movement only seemed to make things worse.

Hesitantly, she touched gentle fingers between her legs, inspecting for damage, half expecting to find blood. It seemed a small miracle that she found none. She felt raw inside and out.

Shivering and miserable, she groped in the dark for the blanket and pulled it tightly around her.

Everything had gone so wrong...

 

The servants returned in the morning. They brought fresh clothes and bandages with them, but no water to wash with. Sango ignored them, preferring to stare at the wall and pretend that nothing had happened last night.

It hurt more than she had thought it would, both physically and emotionally. She felt nearly overwhelmed by the sense of helplessness, the inability to fight or defend herself. It was strong enough that she clung to the clothes and bedding around her and wished never to leave again. She was a demon slayer, and had always been strong enough to fend for herself. And when she had not, she had been able to rely on the other slayers to keep her safe. She had never faced the plight of an ordinary woman. Her father had begun her training early, and had seen to it that she knew how to defend herself from any attack, whether her attacker was human or demon in nature.

She had thought herself strong enough to handle anything. Not so, now.

She had been made aware, if only distantly, that some men made use of unwilling women for their own gratification, and that she would be obligated not to decline if a lord ever demanded her presence for such a service... but she had never thought such a thing would come to pass.

And now that it had, she lay numbly in the half-dark and drew her knees to her chest, heedless of the strain it put on her injured back, and shuddered. Slayer women did not succumb to sorrow, or to pain. No one had ever told her if slayer women might succumb to shame. She had been the best in her village; what need had she of shame?

But now she was alone, truly, inescapably alone, for the first time in her life. There was no one left to question, no one to reassure her or protect her while she was weak.

Tears pricked at her eyes, the first she had cried since everything went wrong. She wiped them angrily away, but they would not be stopped and more soon followed.

She thought of her father and brother and of all that she had lost, of friends and comrades in arms, even of her mother, that half-remembered woman from her childhood. They had been strong, all of them. They had been her lifeline. Now all that she had left of any of them was her memory.

And, as the tears began to flow freely down her face, she let her memories loose. There were many good memories to counteract the recent painful ones, but it seemed all they did was remind her of happiness that was lost forever.

She remembered smiling and laughing with both of her parents, before Kohaku's birth. She remembered playing with her brother, and teaching him to fight. She remembered the pride she had felt on the battlefield beside her family, helping wealthy lords or whole villages deal with demon infestations. But the haze of dark clouds seemed to lurk ever on the horizon.

She remembered a time, when she was still young, that her father had gone on an extermination mission with her mother. He had returned without her, and he had never been the same. For days, he spoke to no one and kept to himself. But he knew all along that he had two young children and an entire village counting on him... and so he had picked himself back up and carried on. Sango thought of her father as he had been then, and the image of him as he died with Kohaku's chain scythe in his neck flashed before her eyes.

Her father had been strong, for the sake of his village, his people, and his family. And now, as the last of the demon slayers, the last survivor of her village, Sango knew she would have to do the same.

And she knew, with the sudden certainty that comes when there are no more tears to shed, that when she was able to fight back, this was going to end.

 

Kagewaki visited every day. And every night he came to her bed.

Sango's nights became so filled with nightmares that she found it difficult to sleep. When she did not remember waking in her own grave, she recalled the brutal destruction of her father, her brother, the other demon slayers, the village... or her battle with the demon Inuyasha, fighting for her life against the one that had destroyed what was left of her world.

When she did not face battle in her dreams, she faced Lord Kagewaki. Sometimes it almost seemed that he loved her, but then he would become violent and depraved. Sometimes there was only the abuse, the constant reminder that she was both alone and powerless.

Her days were filled with empty silence.

The servants didn't speak. They never spoke, never even gave the slightest hint that they even wanted to. They performed their tasks efficiently, in silence, and then went away. Sango did not know if they had been told not to speak to her or if they simply could not.

Regardless of the reason, it put her on edge. And it filled her, too, with a strange sense of sorrow to find only specters where she might have hoped for friends.

 

It was ten days, give or take, before Sango was well enough to leave her bed and wander falteringly about the room. She felt very weak, but it appeared that the worst of her recovery was behind her. Twinges of pain still plagued her, but she recognized the small aches and pains as those of muscles gone too long into disuse, not the pain of flesh struggling to knit itself whole again.

The days passed more swiftly then, as she began to spend time out of her bed. At first she walked circles around the room. When she was strong enough she began to stretch her sore muscles and to work through the most basic exercises of her training. She was pleased to discover that, with a little effort, her body was as strong and flexible as it had been before she was injured. It would be a while yet before she reached that point, but it felt almost within her grasp.

Kagewaki continued his daily visits, as did servants and healers, and she pretended weakness and they seemed oblivious to her progress. If Kagewaki knew she was getting stronger, that she was planning to leave, she feared he might attempt to stop her. She couldn't let him do that; there were too many things that she needed to do in the world. Her thoughts returned, increasingly, to the ruins of her home. She imagined the bodies of friends and loved ones strewn about the streets, and huts - _homes_ \- collapsed and destroyed. Someone needed to clean the place up, to perform rites for the dead, to begin training the next generation of slayers, and it became almost her dream to do so.

It was a dream that Kagewaki crushed a little bit more every day when he visited, particularly when he lingered. And as the days went by, he stayed beside her longer and longer. His touch had become possessive, almost appreciative. She knew that he would be loathe to allow her to leave, to strike out on her own, to resume the trade that had nearly killed her. She feared that he would want her to stay, to become some sort of courtesan or even a wife.

And one day, after what she supposed he might call their nightly love-making, he remained beside her, and seemed almost thoughtful. His hands roamed gently over her body, which shivered and shuddered beneath his touch - though not for the reasons he probably thought - and he said the words that she had been dreading: "Be my wife, Sango. Bear me strong children."

She had no easy answer for that.

She had no desire to marry Lord Kagewaki. She was a demon slayer. She had always assumed that her children would grow up to be demon slayers, and her children's children after them. She was the daughter of a village headman, but their family was of common stock and as such she had never truly given thought to the idea that her children might also be the children of some noble family.

And, beyond all that, no matter how kind he had been to her, no matter how much he claimed to care for her, he had still taken grave advantage of her.

"No," she said, finally. "There are other things I must do first, before I can consider getting married."

"You would deny me? And give up all of this?"

Anger and indignation flashed through her. She pushed herself upright in order to glare at him directly, rather than look up at him. "_This_ will not continue," she said, steel creeping into her voice. He would know what she meant, and even if he did not, she no longer cared. "You have my thanks for all that you have done for me, but I am done with _this_, and I will not be your wife."

He was silent a moment, his serene expression never faltering. It was almost as if he didn't care that she had turned him down. She supposed that it did not matter, but was determined to fight him tooth and nail if he tried to take her tonight. She felt strong enough. She might have a chance. She almost yearned for it. But it never came.

"As you wish," was all he said, and then was gone.

Sango breathed a sigh of relief, but she did not sleep that night.

 

Kagewaki was late. He had visited her every day without fail since her return, but it seemed that he would not be coming today. Sango did not know whether to be nervous or relieved.

When the door finally slid open, she did not even turn to look.

"Lord Kagewaki sends his regrets, but he is unable to attend you today, Lady Sango."

Naraku.

It was now almost a month, so far as she could reckon, since she had come to stay in Lord Kagewaki's castle, and she had not seen him in all that time. She had hoped never to see him again. He made her feel ill at ease with even the humblest of actions; even now, she found herself yearning for the weapons hidden in her discarded armor, or at least a knife to slip up the sleeve of her yukata. She was alone with Naraku, and defenseless. The thought terrified her even more than the demon that had slain her village singlehandedly.

"Lord Naraku." She pushed herself upright and nodded slightly, but gave no further sign of respect or acknowledgment.

"Lord Kagewaki asked that I check on your progress."

"I am alive."

"I can see as much. There has been no improvement, then?"

Sango frowned. "I grow stronger by the day, but it is a slow process. My wounds are healing. Soon, I may be strong enough to walk again. Someday, I may be able to resume my trade." The hope she voiced was real, though she had doubts about her ability to carry on as a demon slayer without her friends and family.

"You would return to the profession that caused your entire family to be killed?"

She half shrugged. "I know of no other path."

"Most women choose to be wives and mothers." The only ones that did not were the miko, and they both knew that Sango was no holy woman.

"It is not for me." There was bitterness in her voice and she did not hide it well. She had known what the consequences would be when she turned Kagewaki down; who else would marry damaged goods? She had not even beauty to aid her, now, for her injuries had left her terribly scarred. There was nothing left but to keep fighting. Someone had to train more slayers, or the trade would die with her. If she married Kagewaki, the end of her family's line was assured. If she did not... there was still a chance.

"The healers tell me that you have not yet resumed your cycle," Naraku commented suddenly, as if it were the most appropriate topic in all the world.

Sango let her eyes drift shut angrily. How dare the servants inform Naraku of such personal things! She thought of protesting that it was none of his concern, but had a feeling he would pry anyway until she gave him some sort of definitive answer. "Yes, it is true. My injuries were… severe, and I have not yet fully recovered. My body is still out of balance."

He looked thoughtful at that, but seemed to have nothing more to say and excused himself shortly after.

When she was certain that he was gone, she slipped out of her bed and paced the room. She felt vaguely like a caged tiger, but knew she needed to be patient. She was currently in no position to make demands, and she would need to be able to stand firm should Kagewaki or Naraku protest to her demand to be set free. Once, she had trusted Kagewaki, had thought he had her best interests in mind, in spite of his mistreatment. After his reaction when she turned down his proposal, a quiet acceptance that made her more nervous than any angry or jealous outburst might have, she had her doubts. And now...

She was certain that Naraku's probing was at Kagewaki's behest, or at least an attempt to look out for his lord's best interests. His questions... did he know that Kagewaki had lain with her? Did he think she might be with child? She did not think it was likely, but shuddered nonetheless.

There was more to this situation than she had thought before, and she did not like it one bit.

 

Sango had not thought, at this point, that she would ever be glad to see Kagewaki again. But after Naraku's visit and probing, personal questions, she was looking forward to seeing the young lord. He, at least, was for the most part kind and gentle, even if he did not realize that his overtures toward her were unwanted and his feelings were destined to remain unreturned.

And so she was unreasonably angry when it was Naraku that came to visit her again the next day. She gave him no recognition beyond an icy glare, and did not even bother to rise from her bed. Let him know that his presence was undesired; perhaps then Lord Kagewaki would let her have her way and order Naraku to leave her in peace.

"Sango," he greeted, apparently oblivious to the way she hated the familiarity in his voice. It was difficult to tell what he was really thinking, with that baboon mask covering his face. "You seem... restive today."

"Go away," she said bluntly.

"Now, now, Lord Kagewaki sent me to check on you, and I must not fail in my duties."

"Then tell him I turned you away," she insisted. "I will take the blame myself."

But he stood, just inside the doorway, and it seemed he would not go away no matter what she said.

"Why is it, I wonder," he mused, "that you take such offense to my concern for your well-being?"

"My well-being is none of your concern," she retorted through gritted teeth. "And I do not appreciate you asking me such personal questions. If Lord Kagewaki wishes to know how I am doing, tell him he may come see for himself."

"I do not think Lord Kagewaki would be pleased to hear you say that." Something in the tone of his voice had shifted subtly, and it set her on edge. She glowered at him, and he went on. "Lord Kagewaki is a busy man, with many obligations. It is improper to demand that he attend you himself."

She continued to glare at him and said nothing. Undeterred, he stepped closer.

"I think," he said slowly, "that you are up to something, Sango." When she stubbornly refused to say anything, he added, "You must have some scheme in place, here. And I intend to find out what it is."

He strode across the room then, so quickly that for an instant she thought he intended to strike her. She did not flinch, merely closed her eyes, but the blow never came.

Instead, Naraku towered over her, then reached down, grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She grunted, her body painfully protesting such rough treatment. Dispassionately, Naraku stared at her for a long moment, and then tossed her backward as if she weighed nothing. There was not enough force behind it to send her very far, but she reeled backward, stumbling awkwardly before she finally found her balance. It wasn't until she had drawn herself upright to meet his eyes that she realized she had forgotten to feign frailty this time.

"My, my, this is certainly an interesting development," he murmured, almost thoughtfully. His gaze roamed over her body, undoubtedly quite visible through the thin yukata she had been given to wear, and made her skin crawl. "You must have been hiding this for a while now, but you've always been stronger than an ordinary woman, haven't you, Sango?"

No longer able to articulate or contain her fury, Sango slapped him. The blow was hard enough to make her hand sting, and to crack that damned baboon mask.

Naraku chuckled, a low, reverberating sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Does my choice of attire displease you, Sango?" He reached up with one hand, making no move toward her, and crushed the baboon's skull in his hand. Sango's heart stopped as the fragments of bone fell away.

Under the mask, Naraku bore Kagewaki's face. Sango recoiled, horrified. Anger boiled under the surface, spilled over. Had she been deceived all this time?

"I - I'm leaving," she managed, barely concealing the distaste in her voice. She stepped backward instinctively, knowing that the door was behind her. "I can't stay here anymore..."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave, Sango."

"Is it Lord Kagewaki that says I may not leave, or you, Naraku?"

His expression altered for barely a moment, shifting into something that might have been anger or disgust before slipping back into his customary neutrality. "It is of no consequence. We are the same, after all."

"You cannot keep me here."

"Can't I?"

She bristled at the challenge, and took off. If he was surprised at her ability to spring away and run unsupported - albeit unsteadily - he did not give any sign.

She almost made it to the door. Almost. Her outstretched hand slammed, hard, against an invisible _something_ and she came to a sudden, jarring halt. The air crackled with so much energy that she felt ill. Bile rose in her throat, and the world seemed to vibrate and shimmer dizzyingly around her. Dumbly, she realized that she'd been trapped behind a barrier without even noticing.

She pushed herself away from the barrier and turned to face her captor.

The transformation happened so quickly that she did not see what was happening until it was too late to escape. Naraku's body pulsed, shifting, growing... tentacles sprouted where legs had been and grew swiftly, filling the room with writhing, twisting flesh, like some obscene octopus. The fleshy tendrils gripped her tightly, ensuring that she could not escape even if her strength had fully returned. She struggled in his grip, gagging on something foul that must have been demonic shouki. It burned her lungs and stole her breath until she was too weak to fight back.

Through the haze, she heard Naraku's voice. "I need you alive, Sango."

"I am no man's plaything," she wheezed. "I'd rather die."

Naraku's smile only grew wider. "Do you not feel it, Sango? The darkness growing inside of you."

She felt only anger and despair; was that what he meant by 'darkness'? One of the tentacles brushed against her chin and tilted it upward, forcing her to look at him. For a long time they remained, eye-to-eye, staring. It was almost as if he could sense the hatred burning in her heart, but his cruel smile never faltered.

Finally: "You'll stay here until I have no more use for you." Suddenly, he released her and retreated, as if he had never been there in the first place. She landed awkwardly, jamming an ankle against the floor, and remained where she fell. It was a long time before she summoned the resolve to move, and then to hobble once more about the room that had become her prison cell. The barrier persisted, a mere hands-breadth from the wall on all sides, effectively caging her.

Sango seethed. She was still trapped behind the barrier, but thankfully alone at last. Naraku's words echoed in her head. _I need you alive, Sango_.

With shaking hands and fumbling fingers, she ripped the obi free from her yukata. If he needed her alive, then she would die. He had left her no sword, no weapon, not even her collection of poisons. And therefore she had no choice. She looped the rope around her neck and pulled it tight until she choked. She knotted it once, twice and forced her hands away, her resolve crumbling as she grew lightheaded and certainty began to ebb.

Her legs were suddenly unable to support her weight, and she slipped to the floor, gasping uselessly for air. Her hands moved of their own volition, clawing at the rope around her neck in a vain attempt to save her life.

As her vision faded into red, she was only vaguely aware of the door sliding open, of hurried footfalls against the mats on the floor. And then... everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Miroku's head throbbed. A matching throb echoed from the palm of his right hand, where the kazaana was concealed.

He rubbed his temple with his left hand, but the motion did little to help. Groaning with pain and effort, he forced himself to sit up. Doing so made him feel nauseous and dizzy, and he collapsed back against the mat almost as soon as he had got up.

_What the hell happened?_

Cracking his eyes open brought more pain and the realization that he had no idea where he was. He shut his eyes again and took stock of the situation. He felt mostly intact, if a bit bruised. There were bandages wrapped tightly around his middle, most likely dressing a wound. Strangely, for all the bandages he felt not even the slightest twinge of pain. At least not from anything below his head. He decided that maybe he just could not feel it through the ache in his skull.

He felt around gingerly with his left hand. He was not wearing a borrowed yukata, but his own koromo and kesa. The blanket that had covered him was made of thick, heavy material. The mat beneath him was substantial, but not luxurious.

He listened, but could hear nothing. Not even the chatter of insects, much less the telltale arguing of his companions. If Inuyasha and Kagome were anywhere nearby, they would have been aware that he was awake by now. In fact, they probably would have awakened him with their constant bickering. Instead there was only a pervasive silence.

He lay still and listened hard, straining to pick up even the slightest sound. Still nothing.

Miroku considered himself a patient man, but this was trying even for him. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and then jerked upright again. This time he refused to let the pain overwhelm him, and managed to stay in a sitting position rather than falling back to the mat. Motes and sparks of light danced behind his eyelids, and did not fade when he opened his eyes.

Pain lanced through his skull like a hot knife. Swearing, he clamped a hand over his eyes.

The darkness helped, somewhat. Several minutes and many deep, focused breaths later, the pain had abated enough that he felt safe opening his eyes again. His head throbbed again, but this time it was bearable. Carefully, he removed his hand, and looked about the room.

It was spacious, but not large. Well-furnished, but not extravagant. A small fire pit provided light.

It told him little. He could be anywhere. And that made him suspicious.

That there was no sign of his companions most likely meant that they had been separated. The room's appointments indicated that he was either in an inn, or the home of a fairly wealthy man. Each deduction led only to more questions and added to his growing sense of unease.

Something was decidedly wrong here. How had he gotten here, anyway? He could not quite remember. There had been a battle, he knew that much. They had discovered a ruined village, empty of life and with bodies strewn about the streets, when a woman had attacked them. And... Naraku had been there. That was how he had become separated from Inuyasha and Kagome - when he went after Naraku. The warrior girl had been focused on Inuyasha, and Miroku, being the opportunist he was, had seen his chance and seized it.

The memories became clearer. Naraku had fled. He had given chase, finally catching up only to find the bastard transformed into some sort of hideous _thing_, a mass of jiggling flesh replete with tentacles and spines. He had known Naraku to be a shapeshifter - it was always a major problem to find the bastard, because he could be anyone or anything - but he had not expected anything like this. And he had been no match for it.

He winced at the memory of tentacles grabbing him, pulling him down... and the sight of another, flashing forward to strike him, stabbing into his gut and all the way through.

He'd been impaled. That explained the bandages around his middle, though it did not explain how he had managed to survive such an injury. He did not remember anything after that; he must have blacked out.

He should have died. But then he woke up and found himself here. Wherever here was.

It was frustrating not to know, but he was far too weak to go exploring just yet. Besides, he had a feeling that if he was patient, the answers would find their way to him. And, perhaps, even his erstwhile companions would find him as well.

Equal parts resigned and exhausted, he lay back down on the mat and closed his eyes. The pain lessened somewhat, and the throbbing faded away. He slept.

 

Time seemed to drift by without him. He slept often, losing himself in the deep, dreamless sleep of healing. Sometimes when he woke, there would be food. Sometimes there was not. But it was days before he saw anyone.

He was not sure exactly how many days had passed, because it was nearly always dim inside the room, but he awoke once to find two matronly, gray-haired women beside him. They were strangely, worryingly silent, but they had a fresh supply of bandages and they seemed intent on getting him cleaned up. He cooperated as best as he could, considering they would not tell him what they wanted, communicating instead with hand gestures and annoyed expressions when he failed to correctly guess at what they wanted him to do.

He allowed them to strip off the old bandages and wash the wound, which was considerably smaller than he had thought it might be, and did not go all the way through as he had feared it might. He watched with a sort of detached fascination as they wrapped more bandages around him and urged him to lie down again.

"Why do you not speak?" he asked when they turned to leave.

They gave no sign of having heard him at all, sliding the door shut behind them purposefully, as if to tell him that was enough of that.

Frustrated, Miroku frowned. Healing was not nearly so fun without pretty young girls to make a fuss over him. These women were older than he preferred, and so ominously silent... It made him uneasy. And where were Inuyasha and Kagome? It was unlike them not to have found him already, or to be courteous enough to allow him to heal before accosting him.

As the next several days passed, he grew stronger and more frustrated. He found no answers to his questions, only the resounding silence.

There were servants in this place, many more than just the two that had seen to his wound, but none of them spoke. Most of them were female. Some were old, some young, and one even looked hauntingly familiar, though he could not place her.

The servants brought food, as well as fresh bandages and blankets. The food was plentiful, but bland, and he was given only water to drink. He found himself longing for spicy food and sake. And women. And _talking_.

The silence was getting to him. It was making him bold and reckless. Stupid, even.

He had somehow got it into his head that it was time to be up and about. He'd had enough of this place, and though he might not be strong enough to leave it yet, he was determined to at least have a look around. And so, when he found himself suitably alone, he staggered to his feet. The lightheadedness was overwhelming, and he very nearly lost his footing, but he managed to stay upright until the fit passed and the world quit swimming dizzily around him.

He had spent too much time lying about, waiting for something to happen, without really giving much thought to how dangerous his situation might be. He had no idea what was going on... he could be at the mercy of an ogre, or a guest in a demon-infested castle, or anything in between. He had not sensed any youki during his stay, but he had not been in a position particularly conducive to being aware of his surroundings until the last day or so. For all he knew, he had simply missed all the warning signs.

Shaking off his apprehensions for the irrational fears they were, he made his way across the room. It was beyond time he had a look around. Paranoia reared its ugly head as he approached the door, but there was no sign of trouble, and no indication that anyone knew - or even cared - what he was doing. The door opened easily. The hall outside was empty. Aside from a faintly smoky smell that wafted past, everything was as still and silent as ever.

But as Miroku stepped through the doorway, he felt the icy shock of a barrier envelope him. It did not prevent him from passing through, but it set him on edge. It would seem his suspicion that he was not supposed to leave that room had been on the mark: someone wanted to know what he was up to. The only question now was who.

His steps echoed almost painfully loudly in the hall, accompanied by the pounding of his heart and a faint, fleeting whisper, which sounded almost like a woman weeping. But when he paused and strained to hear better, there was only echoing silence.

It seemed his fears of discovery were well-founded, for he had not gone very far at all before a door slid open ahead of him and three figures emerged. Two he recognized as the women who took care of his wounds, and the third was a big, burly man. Not a one of them looked particularly pleased. In fact, they looked downright menacing.

He stood his ground as they approached, unnerved by the sense of impending conflict. He did not like to find himself weaponless in a fight, but for now he knew he would have to make do with whatever he could improvise; he was without his staff and sutras, and these were humans, which meant the kazaana was off limits. But he was not even sure he could reason with them. They had ignored everything he had said to them thus far.

"What's with the sour looks?" he asked, his voice obscenely loud in the otherwise silent hall. "I'm just having a little look around."

This explanation did nothing to placate the trio, nor to slow them down. Each of the women took one of his arms, gripping tightly lest he try to escape, and the man took the opportunity they provided to punch Miroku squarely in the gut. The blow came hard and fast, forcing the wind from his lungs. Dazed and gasping for air, he slumped against the women.

They were stronger than they looked, dragging him easily, if unceremoniously, back to his room and tossing him inside. It occurred to him just before he landed that he had never been thrown quite so hard by a human opponent. He hit the ground hard, his head impacting the floor with a crack that had him seeing stars. He remained where he had fallen, flinching as one of his keepers slid the door into place with a resounding _thwack!_

Through a haze of pain, he wondered why his innocent wandering had been so offensive to the servants who had been caring for him, but it was easier just to let the soothing darkness in than to think about it too hard. He would worry about that later, after he had a nap, when the pain went away...

 

When Miroku woke again, there was someone in the room. He knew it before he even opened his eyes, before he had really begun to emerge from the depths of sleep. It was a powerful presence, dark and cold and... at least part youkai. He feigned sleep for as long as he could, struggling for serenity amidst tumultuous emotions. He needed a plan, because... he knew this aura. Its darkness sang harmony with the throbbing hole in his palm.

_Naraku_ was in this very room.

He wondered what the odds were that he could open the kazaana and destroy Naraku before being killed himself. Probably slim to none.

He lingered indecisively for a moment longer; there came the quiet rustle of shifting fabric and the sound of footfalls on the mats, the door slid open and closed again almost silently. When Miroku opened his eyes, there was no one else in the room, but the sense of darkness and unease remained.

He sat up suddenly. Someone had moved him back onto the futon. He did not want to think about the 'who' or 'why' of the situation. There was something else he needed to check first. He rolled to his feet, letting momentum push him upright as he paced to the door. He could not touch it. The barrier had shifted to just inside the room, and it would no longer let him pass.

At least now he knew that he was no guest, but a prisoner instead. He returned to the futon and settled himself upon it. So Naraku was behind all this... which meant he had been kidnapped, not rescued. Did that, in turn, mean that Inuyasha and Kagome had given him up for dead? He hoped that they had, for their own sakes.

 

Miroku had never been a prisoner before, not really; Naraku had always been content to let him wander the land in a fruitless search, the threat of death hanging over his head until the kazaana eventually ate him up. Something had changed in Naraku's strategy. He had to be up to something to change his tactics so drastically, but Miroku was stumped as to what that something might be.

He supposed as far as prisons went, this was not that bad. He was provided with anything he needed: food, water, fresh fuel for the fire... he simply was not allowed to leave, nor was he allowed anything that might be used as a weapon. The barrier outside the door kept him neatly caged within, without the need for guards. There were only the servants, as ominously silent as always, keeping the place in order. There was no pain or torture, unless he counted the unending solitude.

One day passed, then two, and ten, and twenty, and more until he began to lose track of the days. He appreciated idleness as much as the next man, but this prolonged inactivity was enough to try even his patience. He had never thought he would see the day when his family's honor would be the one thing that kept him going, but loneliness, boredom, and frustration brought him perilously close to that point several times as the days slipped slowly by.

Eventually, the wound in his belly healed enough that the two ladies no longer came to treat it, and he no longer had need of fresh bandages. The flesh was still red and sore, and especially tender to the touch, but he was whole. Now that the two ladies, who he cheerfully referred to as "Grumpy", no longer came to his room, he found that he almost missed them.

Boredom and unease ate at him constantly, threatening to drive him mad. In an effort to combat the oppressive boredom, he recited all the poems, chants, and folk songs he knew, and then went back through them all again. At first he whispered the words under his breath, but then he spoke and even sang them. No one was listening, anyway. If there was someone listening, they gave no sign.

He masturbated, often. Once, he did it in front of one of the servant girls, just to see if it would get a response. It did not. And after a while, even that lost its appeal. When he was well enough to be up and about without feeling dizzy, an unpleasant side-effect of having hit his head so hard on the floor, he walked in circles around the room, just to keep moving, to fool himself into believing there was some purpose for all of this. Meditation grew tolerable, and eventually pleasant.

And, inversely, Miroku's temper grew worse and worse. He found himself feeling constantly irate, and the source of his ire always came down to one question: if this was Naraku's grand trap, where the hell was he? And, if Miroku stopped to think about it at length: what was Naraku up to? Worse: was he going to keep Miroku trapped here, secluded, until the kazaana opened up and swallowed him?

He could not afford to let that happen.

Unfortunately, Naraku had had the foresight to strip him of all of his sacred sutras, as well as his shakujou staff, leaving him without even his most basic weapons. And it seemed that no matter how many times he asked the servants to bring him ink and paper, they simply stared at him in dumb silence before moving on to their next task. Unless he could somehow get close to Naraku, he was not sure there was anything he could do... and after his sound defeat during their last battle, he was not at all sure that getting close to Naraku was a good idea.

As much as he paced and meditated and thought, and he really had nothing better to do, he could not come up with a viable solution to the situation. He simply could not get past the barrier. Without that obstacle in his way, he might have had options. But the fact remained that he first had to get out of this prison before he could even think of anything else.

In the end, he opted not to think about it much. It was as pointless as his ruminations on the kazaana, and only served to blacken his already dangerously dark mood. He would just have to wait and see, and ensure that he was ready for any opportunity that might present itself.

 

There was a sound in the hall, beyond the door. It was the first such sound that Miroku had heard during his stay, and it instantly put him on alert. It was different from the gentle settling of the building or a wind-driven creak; it was deliberate, like a footfall.

He had been sitting on the futon, meditating lightly, when it happened. Now he was wide awake, straining to hear any sound that might follow, trying to see if he could detect any traces of youki that might betray a demonic presence. What he sought was faint, but he knew it was there, like the first whiff of smoke before a fire. The hole in his palm pulsed faintly in time with the ebb and flow of it.

The door opened on its own, right before his eyes. In the eerie quiet that followed, he could feel the flow of youki as it poured into the room. A man dressed in the pelt of a white baboon stood just out of reach outside the door. Miroku's temper flared at the sight of the object of his hatred, so close, yet so far. _Naraku_...

He brought his hands up, his left hand finding the beads that bound the kazaana with practiced ease. In less than the span of a single heartbeat, he could remove the beads and open the void. "Come into this room, Naraku, and I'll use your own curse to kill you."

"You would risk destroying this castle and killing everyone within it, just to end my life?" Naraku's voice was calm; he knew that Miroku refused to take any human life, much less use the curse of the kazaana to do so. By putting the presumably human staff in harm's way, Naraku had ensured his own safety. And Miroku did not like it one bit.

"What do you want?"

"I have a purpose for you."

Miroku narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

"You are alive right now, monk, because you are no threat to me. But you may prove yourself useful."

"I would sooner die than serve you, Naraku."

The demon smiled. If anything, it made him look more wicked. "Not even if it means removing your curse?"

Miroku's heart stopped for an instant; his right hand reflexively curled into a fist and squeezed tightly. To end the kazaana's curse... he would do almost anything to achieve that freedom. It was tempting, so tempting, to blindly accept the offer and do whatever was asked of him, if only it would get rid of the curse... but he knew better than to trust Naraku. When he could speak again, he asked, "Just what are you offering?"

The smile grew wider. "Do a favor for me, monk," he said, "And in return, I'll do one for you."

"I want to know what I'm getting into before I agree to anything."

"Then see for yourself."

Naraku withdrew then. The barrier around the room melted away. As if it had been keeping out Naraku's darkness as much as it kept Miroku bound within, he felt suddenly inundated by youki. Miroku hesitated. Making a deal with a demon, _any _demon, much less Naraku, was a dangerous thing. He reminded himself that he had not agreed to anything yet, and stepped through the door.

He followed as Naraku moved silently down the hallway, his apprehension growing with each step. He kept the kazaana at the ready, should he find an opportunity to use it. Naraku had his back turned... it was tempting to try to use it, but he could not. What if there were people behind those walls?

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a door that looked exactly like any of the others that lined the hall. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this room in particular, but something about it made Miroku nervous.

As if oblivious to Miroku's concern, Naraku opened the door.

The first thing that struck him was the horrible stench. Somewhere between vomit and stale urine, it made him want to gag, though Naraku showed no ill effects. Holding a hand over his nose and mouth protectively, Miroku peered over Naraku's shoulder and into the room. Whatever he had expected to see beyond the door, it was not this.

It was a room in total disarray. It was dark, dirty, dingy. There was a fire pit colored black with soot, but no sign of fuel nor fire. The floor mats had been torn up, and the futon lay not on the floor, but thrown awkwardly against one wall. A woman sat in the middle of the room, her knees hugged to her chest. It took him a moment to realize that she was naked, save for a ring of dark bruises around her neck.

"Keep her alive," Naraku said simply. He moved aside suddenly, his hand against Miroku's back, shoving, sending the monk reeling into the room. It seemed he had no say in the matter, after all. "And I will remove the kazaana from your hand."

Miroku did not have time to wonder what Naraku was up to, or who this woman was, or how she had ended up in this place, or why Naraku wanted her alive, for she was already in motion, hurling herself toward him. Her hands caught in the fabric of his kesa, and she pulled - hard. He grunted from the effort of staying on his feet and barely managed to keep from toppling over as she swung him madly around. But her strength did not last, and once her initial momentum was gone, she sagged against him, almost clinging.

Her eyes caught and held his. Those eyes... a rich, deep brown, opened wide, and with a crazed, haunted look to them.

He sought words and could find none.

She found words for him, and when she spoke, her voice rough and smooth at once, it chilled him to the bone.

"Kill me."

For a long moment, all that existed was the two of them and a horrible, confused, transfixed silence.

Miroku blinked, and the spell was broken. "What?"

The door slid shut behind him; the faint sound of Naraku's laughter slipped into the room and faded away. He turned to look, glaring at the door as if it made a difference; he was furious, both with Naraku for tricking him again and with himself for being so stupidly gullible. But the promise of removing the kazaana had been too much. He should have held his ground, refused the request, and... then what? Gotten himself killed?

He frowned.

Suddenly trembling, the woman released her grip on his robes and sank to the floor. "You're... you talk. You're not one of _them_," she whispered.

He knew who she was talking about - the servants. More than once, he had thought the silence would drive him mad. "No, I'm not," he said, his voice hushed.

He knelt beside her, inspecting her curiously. She looked familiar, but she was covered in grime and bruises, and was thin enough that he could count her ribs through her skin, so it was difficult to place her. She could have been anyone, really. But to judge by the look of her, and the room in which she was trapped, his own imprisonment had been positively cozy.

"But you're going to do what he said, aren't you?"

"What?"

Her eyes were downcast. "You're going to make me live." She laughed. It was a bitter sound, like a bark. Under her breath, quietly enough that he almost did not hear, she added, "I wished for someone to end my suffering, and Naraku gives me a damned monk. I only wish I knew what I had done to deserve this."

What had happened to this woman that she wanted so desperately to die? Somehow, Miroku felt it would be inappropriate to ask, and yet, he could not help himself. "What happened to you?" he murmured, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder in what he hoped would be a comforting caress.

Fire flashed in her eyes and she slapped his hand away. "Do not touch me," she hissed.

He recognized that look, and the strength that belied her apparent frailty. He had seen this woman before - she was the warrior that had attacked Inuyasha outside the village of demon slayers. He had not recognized her at first because she was not wearing her mask. Myouga had known the girl's name, and Miroku struggled to recall it now, but found he could not. He had not been paying close enough attention, having assumed her to be either one of Naraku's pawns or at least completely under his control. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely, his mind racing.

Was she a prisoner, like him, or was she merely part of some new elaborate game Naraku had devised? Or had she failed in her mission to slay Inuyasha, and this was the punishment? He could come up with a dozen sordid explanations for the black ring of bruises around her neck, or the fact that she had no clothes. It was strange, especially for a man of his proclivities, but her unabashed nudity bothered him. Any other woman he had known would have at least tried to cover herself in front of a strange man, but it was almost as if she did not care.

He scanned the room, searching for any sign of her clothes, and found none. The only things he could give her were pieces of his own clothing. His koromo robe would be far too large for her, but the kesa could at least be fashioned into a workable covering until he could find a better alternative. So he stood, stepping away from her in the process, untied the kesa, and pulled it free.

"Here," he said, offering the kesa. If he had thought she would jump at the chance to cover herself in his presence, he was wrong. She merely stared at him, as if confused. He sighed, and draped the fabric over her shoulders.

She shuddered and threw it off. "_Go away_."

He held his hands up, hoping the placate her, or at least demonstrate that he was not going to do anything else she would not like. "I'm sorry."

"And stay away from me," she sobbed.

"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. He backed away from her slowly, and took up a spot in one of the room's corners, where the tatami mats still lay in order on the floor. It was the best he could do, considering he did not think he would be able to pass the room's barrier.

He found himself in an uncomfortable stalemate; he was beyond curious about this woman, and she was completely unwilling to talk to him, even to accept his assistance. She watched him warily from her position near the door. He could feel her watching him even if he closed his eyes.

He did his best to ignore her, and let his thoughts resume their wandering. This situation had to be a deliberate ploy of Naraku's. The bastard had never before indicated that he might be willing to remove the curse of the kazaana; there had never been the slightest hint that such a thing might even be possible. Miroku had been a fool to be so easily convinced...

However, his foolishness had brought an end to his solitude, at least. This woman was far from an ideal companion, but he felt that perhaps she would come to accept his presence, once she realized that he had no intention of hurting her. He even hoped, cautiously, that she might prove to be someone he could talk to, that she might tell him her story and let him help her to suffer less. That she wanted him to kill her... was upsetting. No one, least of all a woman, should have to suffer to the point where they longed for death. And yet it rankled that his own instincts aligned so perfectly with what Naraku had told him to do.

He had to wonder if Naraku was trying to trick him into causing this woman - or himself - more pain. It was obvious that Naraku knew of his appreciation for women - it was the reason his family was cursed in the first place. He wondered if that might perhaps be why this woman had no clothing; if Naraku was hoping to make him into the villain. Did Naraku really think he had so little self-control that he would avail himself of the first woman he met, even when she was so obviously suffering already? It would not be the first time someone had assumed him to be motivated purely by lusty self-interest, but that did not make it any more tolerable.

Miroku scowled. Naraku was definitely a master of mind-games. If he meant for this move to push Miroku into some less than pleasant thoughts, he had certainly succeeded. For now, at least. But Miroku intended to turn the situation to his advantage. If this woman was not a pawn and had not yet lost her mind completely, and he did not think she had, then that meant he had a potential ally against Naraku.

He just needed to be patient.

Dark brown eyes watched him and the kazaana in his palm throbbed, as if to remind him that he might not have the time to be patient.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a long time before Miroku allowed himself to relax. His nameless companion's silent staring, of which he was acutely aware even when he did not bother to look, was enough to keep him on edge no matter how he tried to hide it. For the most part, he was able to at least feign meditation, but the act brought him no comfort now.

This woman said she wanted to die, and he believed her. And he feared the lengths to which she might go in order to ensure her own death. For a long time, he thought she meant to attack him again and was only waiting for her chance, but she made no move against him and gave no further sign that she even cared about his presence. Except for the staring.

As time wore on, even the kazaana ceased its painful throbbing. Miroku curled his hand into a fist, grateful for at least this one small blessing.

In that dark and silent space, time was a strangely fluid thing. They might have spent hours or just minutes sitting like that, for all he could tell. But it was draining. The constant fear and apprehension, the sneaking, sidelong glances he cast at his newfound companion... it wore at him more than he expected.

Eventually, an uneasy sleep washed over him and, for better or worse, he slipped willingly into oblivion.

 

Miroku awoke with the sense of dizzy grogginess that came hand in hand with too little sleep. He was not sure what had roused him, for everything was as silent as ever around him and he felt only poorly rested.

When he opened his eyes, he was pleasantly surprised to find that nothing had changed at all while he slept. The room was still dim and dirty, and the slayer woman still stared at him with those deep, haunted eyes. He looked back at her for a moment, and had to look away. To say that nothing had changed was wrong; sometime during the night, she had used his kesa to cover herself.

"Good morning," he said, and nearly winced as his voice rattled through the silence. It was probably too much to hope for that his companion might respond, but it pleased him that there was even the slightest chance.

She regarded him warily and said nothing.

"I'm Miroku," he offered. "And you are?"

Still nothing.

He sighed, but let it drop. There was no sense in pushing for familiarity when he had not yet fully discerned his own feelings on the matter. His natural instinct, of course, was to do whatever he could to protect this woman, who was so obviously suffering. However, this was also what Naraku wanted him to do. He had to wonder why... Why was this woman's survival so important to Naraku? And why had Naraku chosen him to care for her? And... could he live with himself if he did Naraku's bidding, no matter how unpalatable the alternative?

Naraku had invested so much time and energy into making life hell for Miroku and his forebears, he simply could not believe that this would be any different. There had to be a catch. He would not have given Miroku a companion out of the kindness of his heart, if only because there was no kindness in that monster's heart. There had to be a reason, but Miroku could not fathom it. Unless, of course, this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with _her_.

He inspected her as best as he was able from such a distance and without touching her. She was well-built and looked as though she had been strong in the past, but injury - she was covered in old scars and fresh bruises - and her current accommodations had weakened her. Her hair was long and thick, though it had gone to mats and tangles, and her eyes were large and luminous, but dark. She might have been comely if not for her obvious distress.

She had begged him to kill her. Women had pleaded with him for assistance before, but none had ever asked for death, no matter how dire her situation. Something terrible indeed must have happened to her for her to see death as her only recourse. He already knew that her village had been destroyed, and had probably taken everyone she knew and loved with it. But what else? Rape seemed likely. He wondered if she had been tortured into doing Naraku's bidding, or tricked. Maybe she already knew she had attacked innocents, and it was that knowledge that tormented her.

Of course, everything he could think of could only be speculation unless she would talk to him, and she seemed disinclined to do so. Still, and in spite of their less than friendly introductions, he wanted to believe she had a good heart, and that they would find a way to work together and get out of this trap. He had to believe that. The alternative was too much to even consider.

And so, rather than consider any of that, he turned his attention to the accommodations they now shared. The room was in total disarray, but the materials from which it was constructed bespoke wealth and elegance, even more so than the room in which Miroku had been kept before. There was a firepit, but no fuel for a fire. Although the pit was dark with soot ingrained through years of use, there was not even a trace of ash to be seen within. Shadows consumed the far reaches of the room, eating away at the space with darkness. In the far wall, there was a door that Miroku guessed led to a courtyard, though he doubted either of them would be allowed to pass through the opening.

He decided it would be best not to worry about that just yet, and turned his attention to the room's disarray. Someone had ripped up several of the large tatami mats that covered the floor. Miroku got up and went to investigate. Much to his dismay, he felt weak and a bit creaky as he went. He had spent too much time lazing about and meditating lately.

It turned out that two of the mats had been torn up from their place on the floor. One was bent awkwardly and partially torn, the other was stained, perhaps with vomit. Some great struggle had taken place here, causing them to be dislodged. He looked out over the rest of the room, judging where these had once fit with the pattern formed by the rest. The floor mats had been laid in an inauspicious pattern. Miroku wondered faintly if he ought to rearrange them. Instead, he merely pulled aside the mats that were out of place and stacked them near the wall.

That accomplished, he set out to discover the source of the stench that permeated the room.

There was a large pot in the back corner, filled nearly to overflowing with excrement. Miroku managed not to flinch as he drew near. It was definitely the source of the smell.

There had been a similar makeshift latrine in the room he had been imprisoned in, but the servants had always seen to it that it was kept clean. He wondered idly if the servants had been instructed to ignore this woman, or if she had chased them off. And if he would somehow be able to clean or at least empty the thing.

He was well aware that there was a barrier around the room. He had felt it when Naraku threw him inside. The question that remained was whether or not he could still pass through it. He rather doubted that Naraku would be so kind as to allow him access to other areas of the castle...

But there was no harm in trying.

At least not unless Naraku had somehow rigged the barrier to kill anyone that attempted to pass through it.

"Have you ever passed through the barrier around this room?" he asked, turning back to his companion. She had not moved and gave no outward sign of listening to him at all. He wanted to believe he saw a spark of curiosity flash within her eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be certain. She would not assist him. Not yet, at least. He could not blame her, in spite of the ugly, selfish urge to demand her help and cooperation that reared up inside of him.

He paced the length of the room, indecisive.

What did Naraku want him to do? Would he be forced to remain passively within this room, or did his prison extend beyond the walls of this one room? The only way to find out was to push the boundaries. It made his stomach turn. What if this was exactly what Naraku wished for him to do?

There was no use wondering what Naraku wanted from him; it was only serving to torment him. "I'm going to try... to see if I can still get through," he said, half to the woman and half in an attempt to reassure himself that this was indeed what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, he strode purposefully toward the door he had first come through. He paused in front of it, having reached it far sooner than he would have liked.

He glanced at his silent companion to find her watching him, her expression unreadable. Miroku gathered his courage and reached. His hand slipped, tingling, through the barrier, pressed against the door and slid it open.

His heart pounded.

He took one step, then another and another, and found himself back in the hallway. He waited several long moments, but no servants emerged to remove him, or to force him back into the room. Cautiously, he made his way down the hall, careful to keep the wall close on his right and to maintain a watchful eye for any sign of trouble.

The hall was silent save for the soft sounds of his feet against the floor as he walked. The silence set him on edge, but at the same time it was almost reassuring. He was reasonably sure that he would hear anyone coming before they could reach him.

As he continued down the hall, he began to wonder if perhaps he might be able to go far enough to find Naraku himself... a hope that was dashed almost as soon as it slipped into his mind, as he ran into a surprisingly solid barrier in the middle of the hall. Rubbing a hand to his face, which had unfortunately taken the brunt of the impact, he stepped back to regain his bearings.

So Naraku did not want him to go beyond that point... He seethed for a moment. He would get past that barrier if it was the last thing he did. Perhaps not today, but someday.

He turned around.

In the meantime, he had plenty of other rooms to investigate.

He took his time in returning to the woman's room, meandering slowly down the hall and poking his head into the rooms he was able to open. One of them had been transformed into a makeshift kitchen. Another contained stores of dried rice and vegetables. His stomach gurgled faintly with hunger at the sight, but he turned away, determined to finish his exploration. Most were bare, like the room in which he had originally been imprisoned.

He had hoped to perhaps find a new set of clothes for his companion to wear, but there were none to be had. Naraku definitely wanted this woman to live... but he seemed to care nothing for her comfort.

Miroku paused. Frowning, he wondered, not for the first time, if he should have listened when she asked him to kill her. It was a deplorable thought, and he hated himself for thinking it almost as much as he hated himself for doing as Naraku bid him. But Naraku had been in the perfect position to kill him... and had chosen not to. It seemed very likely that if he were to end this woman's life, that he would swiftly find himself following her into the underworld.

She might be ready to die this day, but he was not. He would not be content to die until he was free of the kazaana's curse. And for that, Naraku still had to die.

 

There was an enormous, festering scar across her back. It was the first thing Miroku noticed as he passed through the barrier and back into the room he shared with her. She was dozing lightly enough to rouse as soon as the sound of the door sliding shut alerted her to his return, no doubt too wary and shy to let her guard down while he was present.

"You can rest," he said, "if you're tired." Her expression darkened. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sighed and sat near to her, but not near enough that she might mistake him for a threat. "I can go through the barrier. I do not know if you are able to as well, but there is a kitchen with food stores and supplies. There are storage rooms, too. I didn't see anyone else."

He glanced in her direction, but she looked as impassive as ever. "I'll find something for us to eat in a bit, but first I'm going to try the other door."

As he stood up and headed away, he thought he saw her shudder. Apprehension crept in. He could tell even without words that she knew what lay beyond that door. What was it that moved her to that trembling reaction? Fear? Anger? Both?

The door slid open with a hitch, as if it had been knocked off its track in the past and now clung only imperfectly to the door frame. Beyond, there was a small yard. He could see a well to one side and, further off, a low wall of piled stones. It was late afternoon, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. The courtyard was a deceptively serene sight, and after being kept so long indoors it was positively beautiful to his weary eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the portal.

Fresh air assaulted him, and a fierce breeze. He stood upon a porch made of wooden planks, only a few paces long. Beyond that was meticulously arranged gravel, and near to the wall was a stand of decorative trimmed grasses. He went first to the well. There was a rope and bucket, and the water he drew from it was cool and tasted clean.

Between the fresh water, the moving air, and the crunch of his feet in the gravel, he felt more elated than he had in a long time. He felt almost free, save for the lingering awareness of the doorway behind him and the darkened room beyond. He glanced over his shoulder and felt a pang of guilt. There was no sign of his companion, as she was sitting well away from the door's line of sight. He had not even known her a full day, and he already felt guilty that he should enjoy the freedom of this space and she should not.

He guessed from her apparent disinterest that she could not pass through the room's barrier, or thought she could not, even if he could. It was enough to make him resolve to make their accommodations as comfortable as possible for her.

And perhaps if he did this small thing, she would see that they did not need to be enemies.

He dropped the bucket into the well and went back inside.

It was imperative that Naraku die, and soon. He knew now that he could not defeat that monster alone, but with a demon slayer on his side, perhaps he might have a chance.

 

Miroku did not close this door behind him, but left it open so that the fresh air might blow in from outside and chase the mustiness away. A block of sunlight slid across the floor, warming it beneath his feet as he waited for his eyes to readjust to the dark.

His companion watched his return with hooded eyes, her expression unreadable. For the moment, he decided to leave her be, and instead hauled the chamber pot outside and cleaned it as thoroughly as he could. If it was not perfectly spotless, at the very least it did not stink so foully any longer.

When he set it back in its place, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. There were cobwebs in the shadows and the corners, and he found himself wishing he had rags to sweep them away. There were probably plenty to be had, if he went back to the kitchen, but he did not feel like leaving just yet. He was too pleased with the smell of a fresh breeze and the feel of the sun on his back for that. Truly, he was happy just to be doing something again.

A chill went through him.

Naraku wouldn't let this last, so he had better make the most of it.

So he went to work, cleaning as best he could, ever aware of the sun's track across the floor. He set aside hunger and weariness, determined to finish this thing today, although a part of him urged that he drag out the time spent cleaning, that it might give him something to do during the coming days. And so he found, as the sun had just begun to set, that there was only a small portion of the room that had not been seen to, near the door to the courtyard: one dark corner and the tangled heap of a futon.

The corner was an empty space cluttered with cobwebs and shadows. An enormous, fat spider stared at him from its place high on the wall. He glared at it for a long time, but opted not to kill it. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he dusted away its webs and watched it scramble up and out of reach.

Turning back toward the center of the room, his eyes fell upon the last bit of disarray: the futon. The mat looked rather forlorn and broken, bent and shoved up against the wall like that, with the blanket bunched underneath it. He approached it slowly, noticing for the first time that it was stained with old blood. With a sour taste in his mouth, he knew this what those stains meant. Some undoubtedly came from the still healing wound across her back. Others, he would wager good coin, came from her debasement.

He hated Naraku more than ever, to see proof of what had been done to this woman. _Hypocrite bastard_, he snarled, though he kept the force of his anger in his head,_ to curse my family for my grandfather's so-called 'abuse' of women, and then so defile one yourself._

He made to grab the futon, though he would never be sure if he intended merely to throw it to the ground in a fit of rage, or if he planned to throw it out or to pretend at normalcy, because he never got the chance to find out. Before he could lay a hand on the offending mat: "Leave it."

The sudden outburst halted him in his tracks. It was the first time she had spoken all day. "Ah, if you insist," he managed, turning to gaze at her curiously.

Her face showed only anger. "It should be burned."

For all that he had not asked her what had happened, he knew from her response that he had guessed aright. And amid his anger, he felt a pang of guilt. If he had been more diligent, or his father before him, or his grandfather before that, Naraku might have been slain long ago, and this woman spared such sorrow.

He knew there was no use dwelling on might-have-beens, but his resolve was steeled. He would do better. So far as he knew, Inuyasha and Kagome were still searching for jewel shards; it was odd that they had made no attempt at rescue, but he wondered if perhaps they had given him up for dead. All he had to do was wait for them to make a move, or until an opportunity to make a move of his own presented itself.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, "for what he did to you."

She made no response. If he had thought she might cry, he was wrong. It would seem she had no tears left to shed.

"I will burn it, if that is your wish," he added. There had been a fire in the kitchen. He would manage it somehow.

She hesitated, hovering between trust and fear. _Trust me_, he urged mentally, knowing that his thoughts could not reach her, and fearing that his actions might not, either.

"Please," she said at last, and her voice broke a little on the word.

He gave a small nod. He gathered up the futon mat and the blanket that was with it, and hauled it out of the room and down the hall. There, he left it in an unkempt pile in one corner of the kitchen, but did not dare burn it for fear the resultant stench might attract undue attention.

It was not quite what his companion had requested, but it was out of sight now. And, hopefully, out of mind.

 

It seemed she was finally willing to talk to him. When Miroku finished disposing of the futon and made his way back into the room they now shared, he pressed his advantage, such as it was, hoping she might give him at least a clue as to why she was here in the first place.

"You won't tell me your name," he began without preamble, sitting near to her again, "But will you at least tell me what happened to you?"

Her expression had turned dark; she kept her eyes downcast. Finally, hesitantly, she shook her head "no".

Miroku sighed. Her story was undoubtedly painful to recount, and she probably thought him impudent for his insistence upon knowing, but he needed any advantage he could get. If he knew why Naraku had taken an interest in her, it might help him figure out how to thwart whatever plan the demon had brewing. "Alright," he said finally, trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. Could she not see that they needed to work together? "I'll let you be, then."

 

After a long, uneasy silence, Miroku gave up and wandered out of the room. Perhaps she would feel more at ease if he left her to her own devices. In the meantime, his stomach was growling with greater and greater ferocity, and he decided it was time he found something to eat. He had seen stores of dried vegetables and bushels of rice stashed near the kitchen, so he headed that way first.

His eyes had not deceived him; the kitchen and nearby rooms held stores of more dried, tasteless vegetables than he knew what to do with, and there were also numerous cooking implements to be had, though he noted there were no knives, nor anything else that might potentially be dangerous, save a couple of metal pots and pans. For a moment he thought he had the bad luck to have forgotten to draw water first, but then he spied a bucket in the corner that still held a fair quantity of water.

He wasted no time while he was waiting for the rice to cook, rifling around through the stores in search of spices, herbs, and other goodies. He was, of course, not lucky enough to find any sake, or anything particularly tasty, but he selected a number of vegetables and cooked those to go with the rice. It seemed that Naraku did not want them to starve, but he did not want them indulging themselves, either. Miroku made a sour face and wished for alcohol.

In the end, he had to admit that he could not wish a bottle of sake into existence, no matter how much easier the alcohol might make things. He had made more than enough to sate his hunger, and, having eaten his fill, scrounged for a bowl and utensils for his companion.

He found one, and heaped what was left of the food into it. He was cautious when he stepped into the room they shared, but the woman gave no sign of noticing his return. Without ceremony, he set the bowl in front of her.

"Here," he said, taking a seat opposite her. "I made some food for you. Eat."

His act of kindness had a strange effect upon her; something very like panic crossed her face in that instant. She shoved the bowl away forcefully enough that it upended, spilling rice across the floor.

Miroku scowled at the mess, before moving to clean it up. "What do I have to do to prove that I am not your enemy?" he asked.

When he looked back up at her, she was glaring at him. "Let me die."

"Why?"

For a moment he thought she would not answer, and they would go right back to their silent stalemate. But she relented a moment later.

"I have nothing to live for," she confessed. "I have no honor, no family, and no home."

"And yet, Naraku wishes for you to live."

"I think," she said, as if he did not already know, "that Naraku enjoys my suffering."

He nodded and took a moment to observe her more closely. The fabric wrapped around her hid much, but she looked very thin and a even bit emaciated. "You haven't moved from this spot all day," he mused. "Why is that?"

She gave a half shrug. "I lack the strength to move." When she caught the flash of surprise that crossed his face, she added, "I do not remember the last time I ate. It will be slow, but -"

"Then you should eat."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "No."

"Why die, when you can live? Honor can only be regained by living, by earning it. Surely you could find a new village to call home, find a husband and a family of your own."

"What has been done to me cannot be undone."

_Do you think you are the only woman who has ever been forced, who has ever been beaten or downtrodden? If you are as strong as I remember, this need not be the end for you... _But he said none of that aloud, only watched. Finally, he asked, "How long have you been here?"

"A month and more. I do not know for sure." She hesitated. "I was unconscious for some time, healing from my wounds. And it is not easy to keep track of time, here."

She had been Naraku's prisoner roughly as long as he had, then. A little longer, he would guess, since she had obviously been under Naraku's sway when she attacked Inuyasha, and he had not been captured until after the battle.

"So he brought you here to heal after the battle," he mused. "And he took away your clothes... Were you to be a pleasure-slave, then?" He could see it clearly, Naraku seeking the pleasures of the flesh in a woman who would be destroyed by it, and felt his anger turn its focus solely on Naraku, even as it grew darker and more dangerous.

She shook her head. He saw something strange in her eyes - a sick, conflicted despair.

"Then... why?"

"He took my clothes because I tried to kill myself."

"Because you..."

"An obi makes a fine noose," she clarified. "And he wishes for me to live."

Her blunt answers left Miroku reeling. It had not occurred to him that the bruises around her neck might have been self-inflicted; he had assumed both her nudity and the marks on her body had been some form of punishment or torture from her captor. He should have known better. Naraku liked to play mind games - it was always about the game, because Naraku was arrogant enough to believe that no one would ever outwit him - more than he liked to physically beat his victims into submission.

Miroku closed his eyes. The answer seemed simple enough. If Naraku wanted her to live because he enjoyed her suffering, then all she had to do to thwart his plan was to stop suffering. But such things were easier said than done, especially under the circumstances they now found themselves. And he had a feeling it went deeper than that. With Naraku, there was always more to things than first met the eye. "And so you wish to die, rather than give him what he wants."

"Yes."

He let his eyes open again. "I cannot kill you."

"I know." Her toneless inflection told him that, knowing nothing else about him, she believed his position as a monk to be the reason Naraku had made him into her keeper. She had said as much upon their first meeting, lamenting that her companion was a holy man and sworn not to kill.

Miroku was not ready to let her know about Naraku's other potential intentions, so he swallowed his ire and continued, "Nor can I in good conscience allow you to continue suffering."

"What will you do, then?"

"I intend to survive this hell, and escape, and you with me," he said, a bit brashly, but it was the truth and he did not want to win her to his side with lies. If he lied and she caught him in it, she would never trust him. And he needed her to trust him, and work with him.

She laughed, then, but it was fierce and mirthless. She was bitter when she spoke: "There is no escape. He has wards and barriers all over the place. His eyes and ears are everywhere. And he'll strike you when you least expect it, if he thinks you plot against him."

"He knows I'll plot against him." With only a little hesitation, his story came tumbling out of him, as if his tale of woe might sway her beaten heart. He told her of his grandfather, and his father, and how he had come to carry the kazaana himself; he spoke of finding shards of the Shikon Jewel, of believing it the answer to his problem, of meeting Inuyasha and Kagome and traveling with them. At the end, he held up his right hand, to show how it was bound against the kazaana. "One day soon Naraku's curse will kill me. He is no fool. He knows I will plot against him."

"Can you help but dance to his tune?"

It was a harsh question, and one he was not quite prepared to answer. "I can try."

The answer seemed to satisfy her. "I hope you succeed," she said. He almost believed her.

He was silent a while after that, considering his options. It had grown quite dark outside while he went about his day's tasks; part of him insisted that as it was now night he ought to get some sleep, while another part knew he would spend the night restless. He was accustomed to bouts of insomnia, and he had been given much to think about today. "Will you tell me your story, now that I have told you mine?"

"I don't wish to discuss it."

He shrugged. "I won't bother you for it again; I know enough."

"You know me, then." Her tone was dry, disbelieving.

"You are the woman that fought against Inuyasha in the forest, outside the village of demon slayers. You, I would guess, are also the last of the famed Taijiya. May I have your name, at least, or shall it be Taijiya-sama?"

"Sango," she said, dully. If she recognized him from the battle, now that she knew something of his part in it, or was surprised that he recognized her, she did not let it show. "Just... Sango. I don't deserve that title anymore."


	5. Chapter 5

Something had changed, and there was no going back. Ever since she realized her position in this place, since she became aware that she had never been more than a prisoner subject to Naraku's whims, Sango's life had been stagnant. Days had blended together into a mass of painful memories and idle tedium. She could have dealt with that, or at least she thought she could.

But Naraku was never content to leave well enough alone. Not when he could devise new and more ingenious torments for his precious prisoners. She had to quash the idiotic feeling that he enjoyed picking on her in particular, but that led her to wonder, in a dispassionate way, what he hoped to gain from cultivating her hatred in the first place. She did not have any way of knowing that any more than she could understand his reasons for providing her with a companion. Then again, the monk had done little other than drive her mad since his arrival, so perhaps it was all part of Naraku's master plan.

She hated thinking about the monk. And about Naraku. Both of them.

The memories Naraku evoked trapped her in a waking terror of helplessness and pain that took eternities to fade. Although she had time in abundance, the constant threat of his presence made sleep impossible and turned even the slightest sound into cause for alarm. And the monk... his presence was soothing. His voice was kind. Something about him made her want to be strong, to give up on this determination to die and find another way. For the first time since her imprisonment began in earnest, Sango felt like fighting. And it terrified her just as surely as Naraku himself. To _feel_ again, after so many days of empty numbness... it shook her to the core.

She couldn't confess it. Not yet. If the monk knew that he had managed to stir something to life again within her... she had no doubt he wouldn't give her a moment's peace.

And she needed peace.

She wasn't sure yet that she was worth saving.

Chief among her fears these days was the thought that Naraku might have somehow got her with child during the course of his abuses. She had not thought it a particularly likely possibility before, but with each day that passed with no sign that her cycle had resumed she grew more frantic. Was it only her physical deprivation that kept her body from resuming its usual cycles, or was there more to it? It was getting hard to hide the fear. And not just from the monk, but herself as well.

_Do you not feel it, Sango? The darkness growing inside of you._

When Naraku had asked her that, she had thought he meant her complete and total despair. She had forced herself to believe that, rejecting every other possibility. Now she feared he had meant something else entirely. But surely there was no way he could know before her, not for certain, that some hideous, tainted life had taken root within her. Or so she told herself. He couldn't know for sure. Even she did not know for sure. It was far too early to tell.

But it was a possibility.

She wondered if telling the monk would change things. If he knew she might be carrying the offspring of his greatest enemy, he might be a more willing accomplice in her death. Or it might only make him more sympathetic of her plight, strengthening his refusal to aid her efforts at self-harm.

She decided not to tell him. Not until she was certain. When she knew for sure and had grown more desperate... then she would tell him, and see what difference it made.

Sango shivered without knowing why.

 

Bit by bit, she was learning not to take her solitude for granted. While the monk had apparent free reign of the castle, or at least more of it than she had access to, he made a point of keeping an eye on her. As if she could go anywhere, even if she wanted to. Even if the barrier that kept her penned in were to suddenly disappear, she lacked the strength to move about.

It was almost funny. Her decision to die had rendered her completely incapable of seizing any chance at escape that might present itself.

It was a desperate decision and, no doubt, a foolhardy one. Forged out of overwhelming guilt, it had seemed at the time like the only possible escape. It was certainly easy enough for Naraku to force her submission; she remembered all too vividly the painful grip of the servants as one held her head back and her nose shut while another poured some foul brew down her throat. Given the choice between suffocating and swallowing, she had made up her mind to suffocate. But her body, buoyed by instinct and reflex and powerful hunger, had rebelled and swallowed.

She had never stopped fighting it. That had been, she thought, six or seven days before Naraku gave her the monk. It was hard to tell. Naraku's servants had forced her to eat for several days, but since then... Naraku seemed content to let Miroku make her eat. Sango was just as determined not to.

By now it had become routine, this locking of gazes and clashing of wills. The monk Miroku would prepare food and try to entice her to eat. Sango would refuse, glaring fiercely until he backed down, no matter how her belly ached at the sight and smell of food. Each time, it took longer to make him give up. She wondered how many refusals it would take before he got it in his head to force her. If he would be able to go through with it, and render himself no better than his greatest enemy.

"Eat."

"No."

She had stopped reacting violently to the food he presented a couple of days ago. Now she simply did her best to ignore it.

"Then tell me why I should take it away," he suggested.

"No."

His expression went sour. She was close to victory. "Is there no compromising with you?"

"There is life or death," she pointed out. "I know of no middle ground."

"Then tell me why you so desperately seek death," he said, sounding somewhere between passionate and desperate.

She shuddered, feeling almost as if she had betrayed herself. She _wanted_ to tell him. She wanted to confide in this monk, this holy man who had found his way to her through the most unexpected circumstances, to let him share at least the knowledge of the weight that rested on her shoulders. If he knew, he might understand. If she could just bring herself to trust him, even that much...

But there was danger in that. She had learned all too well how dangerous a thing trust could be. She had trusted Kagewaki too well and too easily, and had let him do despicable things to her without speaking a word against it until the deed was done. She had trusted in her wounds to end her life, and those, too, had failed her. She had trusted herself to be strong and resolute, and now she found herself succumbing all too easily to doubt, to the sweet words of this man she had only just recently met.

"I..." She could not think of anything to say, any reason that he would understand, and fumbled stupidly for the words to explain herself. She had become so accustomed to saying merely, 'no,' over and over for the past two days. "I..."

_You've ruined everything. Why won't you just let me die_? Her thoughts were angry, accusing. She couldn't put words to them.

"Taijiya-sama, please let me help you."

The plea almost reached her. He looked so very kind... She thought for a moment he might try to touch her again, but he did not. The visceral, violent reaction his last attempt at comforting her with physical contact had earned must have made an impression. Somehow, that pleased her. "You are too quick to assume I am worthy of your aid."

"Everyone is worthy of mercy," he supplied.

"Even Naraku?" she asked, feeling clever.

He sighed. "Naraku deserves our pity. But mercy... no, I would not say that. But I am not in a position to speak of judgment, at least not where that soul is concerned."

"Then what makes you think I deserve mercy? You know more of Naraku than you do of me."

"It would take a lot of convincing to prove to me that you are no different from Naraku, Taijiya-sama."

Something inside her snapped. "_Don't call me that_."

"Sango, then," he said easily, though he did not seem pleased. She did not doubt that he would revert back to the infernal Taijiya-sama as soon as he thought he could get away with it. He had made it clear that he was determined to treat her with the utmost kindness and respect, regardless of her wishes. She wanted to hate him for it, but found she could not. Not quite. She might wish he would leave her in peace and stop meddling in affairs that were not his concern, but she could not hate him.

Confronted by a long silence where she usually made an impatient outburst, he tried a different tack: "Our enemy is the same. Can we not at least be allies?"

Sango stared at him, uncomprehending. Could he truly not understand that she had nothing left to live for, no wish but to die and join her family again in the afterlife? No, she supposed sourly, he probably could not. She had not told him anything about herself save her name. He knew nothing about her beyond what he could surmise from her condition. He could not know how she had watched her brother slay the last of her kin, nor how she had been buried alive and crawled forth from her own grave to seek vengeance, nor how Naraku-Kagewaki had brought her back to this place afterward to use her body for his own sick pleasure.

"So be it. But will you at least tell me how you came to attack my friends outside the village of demon slayers?" he prodded, his tone perfectly innocent, as if he were merely inquiring about the first time they became casually acquainted.

They both knew it was a loaded question, as surely as they knew that he would press for more information if she gave him the answer he sought. She struggled to resist. It seemed that if she just told him what he wanted to know, then he would be satisfied, would cease his unending chattering and would leave her to die in peace. Still, she knew that would not be the case, and steeled herself against it.

But with him staring at her so expectantly, it was not long before her resolve began to crack. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to... since someone had treated her with kindness rather than with cool, silent disregard, or in Naraku's violent, dominating way.

Miroku didn't want anything from her. He was just... curious. Compassionate. And he was damnably determined, too. He had been hammering away at her nearly ever since the moment he found himself stumbling into her room. Eventually he would find a crack in her shell; it might be best to give him something, even just a small bit or a half truth.

"I... Naraku told me that the village of Taijiya had been destroyed, that a demon named Inuyasha had come to the village seeking Shikon shards and slain all who stood in his way." She paused, unused to speaking so much. Her voice was creaky and ugly, her parched throat slow to cooperate with her. "He - he told me when and how, and took me back there with him to... to avenge the fallen. I am -" she faltered.

"Inuyasha did not destroy the village of Taijiya," Miroku said softly. "The village was in ruins when we arrived."

"That's not... what I was told." Sango felt sick. She didn't want to believe, but the alternative was that Naraku had told her the truth and this man before her was a liar. And that, experience told her, was very unlikely. But... if Miroku was telling the truth, then she had killed two innocents in cold blood, for a crime they had not committed.

And Miroku, he didn't know. He had no idea that the friends he believed so staunchly would come to his rescue were dead, dead at the end of her sword. A cold, ruthless part of her wanted to tell him what she had done at Naraku's behest, so he would hate her and she could watch as he abandoned the last vestiges of hope. Then he might begin to understand her. He might see why she needed to die.

But she could not do it. She could not take hope away from him.

"Naraku lies. He is a thief and a shape-changer, and his sole purpose in life is to make others suffer," Miroku informed her, his tone dark and ferociously angry. "That he deceived you is no cause for shame, nor is it any reason for you to suffer like this."

Life as Naraku's prisoner had made her more bitter than she had thought possible; she almost laughed. If only that were all there was to it. But he did not know the half of what had befallen her, and she was not entirely sure she was ready to tell him. Telling him would mean reliving it in full, beyond the mere half-memories that plagued her. The nightmares those pushed-aside memories caused were bad enough, as was the skittishness that made her want to jump at the smallest shadow or the slightest sound. She did not think she was ready to willingly endure again what Naraku had inflicted upon her.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Miroku was saying, smiling faintly, "But if you ever wish to talk about it, I will listen."

Sango stared at the empty cup in her hands, realizing that she had drunk the water he brought for her without even thinking about it. No wonder he was smiling. She bit down on her rising temper, horrified at how easily he had coaxed her into taking water, and even more so at how swiftly he had managed to begin pulling her back to life. It had taken him days, but he had roused the spirit within her into at least this one shudder of activity. For a moment she yearned to recapture the numbness that had consumed her for the past weeks, but found she could not. Nor did she truly want to.

Something had changed, and for good or ill there was no going back.

 

Sango had not realized how much she missed sunlight and fresh air. But when Miroku offered to help her over so she could sit in what was left of the day's sun and enjoy the breeze, not even the realization that this would require him to touch her could dampen her desire. Her room looked out over a small yard; she knew that already, from having encountered Kagewaki and Naraku there once, but she had not tried to return to it after that. She also knew it was probably the same courtyard in which she and her family had been buried, but even so it seemed peaceful and calming.

She sat as close as possible to the open doorway, just far enough away that the barrier's buzzing energy did not bother her, and peered outside. She could see blue sky dotted with clouds, hear the rustle of grass as the wind blew through it. If she closed her eyes and emptied her mind, the feel of sunlight warming her could almost chase away her demons.

There was something freeing in it, though it made her yearn hopelessly to share in the freedom of that small outdoor space. It was so close, and yet utterly unreachable.

"You truly cannot pass?" Miroku asked from his place on the porch.

She shook her head. With one hand she reached out and touched the barrier, pressing her palm to it until her arm began to go numb from the strange energy. She withdrew then, letting both hands rest in her lap. "The barrier keeps me in. He's not taking any chances with me."

They both knew who she was talking about without having to name him and, coming to a silent accord, dropped the uncomfortable subject. As they sat together, she inside and he outside, they watched the sky gradually fade through vibrant pinks and reds as the sun set. Sango watched, feeling some measure of inner peace for the first time since Miroku entered her life, as the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle through the deep blues and purples.

She fell asleep where she sat, though she did not realize it until morning when the sun brightened the room again and drew her slowly to wakefulness. Miroku brought her food and water, and this time she ate without protest. She was sick almost immediately, retching and vomiting helplessly into the chamber pot, her stomach heaving even long after it had been emptied. Miroku remained a silent support beside her, pulling her hair back for her so it would not be dirtied, rubbing a hand soothingly along her back when she shook. And when at last she was done, he took the pot away and brought it back clean without a word of complaint.

She scrutinized him after that, watching the calm expression on his face as he pretended not to notice her staring. She felt shriveled up and dry inside from being sick and took more water when he silently offered it. It soothed, a little.

"Allies," she croaked after a time, remembering what he had asked of her before.

They shared the same enemy. What did that make them, if not allies? Could they not cooperate and hope to throw off Naraku's shackles together?

"Allies," he agreed, and they clasped hands to seal the deal.

 

Life settled into a new routine after that. Miroku ceased his endless prying and, in return, Sango slowly stopped resisting his attempts to get her to eat. She took to calling him 'Houshi-sama' and meant all of the respect implied by the title. The monk showed her every kindness and consideration that she had been denied for so long. As it turned out, he was a friendly man and a very easy companion. He was also possessed of remarkable patience, and if he was ever irritated by her reticence he never once let it show. He attended her when she allowed it, spoke kind words when it was appropriate, and left her alone when she indicated that she needed solitude.

One day after an unusually long absence, he even brought her a big pot of warm water with a rag and a chunk of rough soap that he had obviously salvaged from the kitchen. He slipped discreetly away so she could bathe in privacy and when he returned later for the supplies he pretended not to see that his kindness had made her cry.

She had not shed tears in a long time. It felt almost as good to let the tears go as it did to clean away the grime accumulated from weeks of idle imprisonment. She had not realized just how awful she felt and how dirty she had become. Her long hair, once her one vanity, had gone all to lank, oily tangles. She did not realize until she was clean at last just how terribly her skin had itched. She must have looked frightful when Miroku first saw her, she thought. More tears pricked at her eyes to recall that Naraku had brought her low enough that she had not cared. She wiped them away. Miroku ignored that, too.

She spent that afternoon using her fingers to coax the tangled knots out of her hair while Miroku busied himself with making sure the room was clean. To her surprise, he even took the time to rearrange the mats on the floor. With bright, warm sunlight streaming in through the open door it almost did not even seem like this could be the same room in which she had spent so much time.

As the days passed, even her nightmares began to fade. She allowed herself the foolish belief that Miroku could protect her from whatever threatened, and slept restful for the first time in well over a month. Slowly but surely, as the days passed her appetite returned. She felt ravenous, scarcely caring as she devoured whatever Miroku brought her. She was beginning to feel more and more like herself again. And with that feeling came some small fragment of her former strength.

When she was strong enough, she spent her time relearning how her body worked rather than sitting in the sun all day. It was frustrating to have to learn to walk all over again, but she had time in abundance. She also had a willing partner and assistant in Miroku, who was perfectly happy to support her as she hobbled feebly about the room and cheered her on with a smile or kind word at every success, no matter how small or insignificant.

It was harder to pick up her Taijiya's training again. She had not lost just strength but also flexibility and stamina, and those were more difficult to regain. But she persevered and eventually she did begin to recover, though it was an agonizingly slow process.

She had never let herself go so thoroughly before, even during those rare occasions when she had been wounded or sick. In the past she had always had someone to poke and prod and cajole her back into activity. Whether it was her father or her brother or one of the others, there had always been someone concerned for her future and willing to help. This time there had been no one to help her. But with Miroku's encouragement and assistance, she thought that perhaps she could find her way back to health and strength again. Certainly, with the passing of each day it became easier to walk, and each morning found her more limber than the last.

And if the threat of Naraku's presence cast a pall over the long stretch of painless days, for Sango had little doubt it was only a matter of time before he destroyed whatever peace he had allowed to spring up in this place, she did her best to ignore it. She clung to the tiny threads of hope Miroku had so carefully woven within her and turned her back on fear and doubt. A monk and a Taijiya... if she could get her strength back, could find some sort of weapon, a pair like that just might be able to fight Naraku. Or die trying.

But somewhere along the line, dying had lost its appeal.

 

Sango was not sure what brought it on, but one day she told him. She poured her story out to Miroku, who listened with an expression of grave attentiveness, and relished the half-sick purged feeling it brought on, as if spewing out the words like this could somehow clear away all that had happened to her. Strangely, she found herself feeling like an outsider as she told the story, and recalling it did not hurt nearly as much as she had feared it might. It felt like someone else's tale, something from a long time ago.

She held only one detail back, and that was her knowledge of the fate that had befallen his friends. She feared that he would turn his back on her if he knew that she was responsible for their deaths, and she hated the thought of being the one to take his hope away, for he had managed to instill hope in her where she thought it to be forever lost.

She had thought he might express pity or sympathy, but instead he looked angry. She knew it was directed at Naraku, not her, but it was still a bit surprising to see. He always seemed so difficult to discomfit, so patient and slow to anger.

She let him go when he asked to spend some time outside meditating in the open air. She could understand his need for quiet thought and fresh air. She was not exactly averse to the idea of a day of solitude, herself. She forwent her usual exercises that day in favor of spending the day in the sun and enjoying the empty feeling inside for as long as she could.

Wherever Miroku went in the courtyard to do his meditations, it was beyond her line of sight. She wondered how big that open space was, but could not remember. She had not been paying attention to the yard's size the only time she had ventured into it. She had been far more concerned with Naraku's tale of a destroyed village of demon slayers.

Once, Sango had not thought she would ever miss the monk's idle chatter or his constant presence. Now she realized that she did, to a surprising degree. There was some small comfort in not suffering alone. She had not truly been aware of that before; now she felt bereft in her companion's absence.

He returned later in the day, but stayed only briefly before heading into the hall that led toward the rest of the castle. The next time he returned, he brought food with him. They ate together in awkward silence, Sango half watching him to see if she could discern any clues about the direction of his thoughts from his expression. She could not.

"Do you find my presence disagreeable?" he asked calmly once they had both finished eating.

She shook her head.

He left anyway.

That night, Sango slept uneasily, and dreamed strange dreams.

Her dream was not of the airless void of her grave. Nor did she find herself once more pinned beneath the writhing tentacles of Naraku.

In her dream she lay dozing in a warm, dark place. She was cuddled against another person, in the same way that she had held Kohaku when he woke in the night with fear writ across his face... someone kind and gentle, who wrapped her in an embrace that was strong and protective.

_Father_, she thought, snuggling closer into that warm, familiar embrace, _make the nightmares go away for good._

But one of Father's arms was bound by cloth and sealed tight with beads.

 

Sango was still dozing when Miroku returned from whatever errand he had been about; he had made it a habit to prowl the castle until late into the night, though she had never asked him why. Being alone helped her sleep, but she was accustomed enough to his presence now that she did not immediately rouse herself when he entered.

She listened without moving as he crossed the room and knelt beside her. Only then did she open her eyes.

"Houshi-sama?"

Usually he knew better than to get close to her. She had made him well aware that having anyone in close proximity made her very uncomfortable, even if she had not told him exactly why. She had to admit, however, that she was curious as to what he might want.

One good look at his face told her that something was wrong. He did not look well.

She sat up. "Houshi-sama, are you all right?"

He didn't answer, just stared at her with that strange look on his face, like he was seeking something.

She felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "Houshi-sama, you're scaring me."

And then he closed the short distance between them and pressed his lips hard against hers. For a long moment she was frozen, suffocating under the weight of his closeness. She could not breathe, terror and hatred - how dare he do such a thing? - clawing her into unthinking fear. Unable to bear it any longer, she slapped him hard enough to turn his head.

"What do you think you're doing? Don't touch me," she hissed. He had always obeyed before, giving her space when she let him know that he had overstepped her boundaries. This time, he did not. This time he captured her arms, his hands around her wrists, and with impossible strength forced her down against the floor. "Houshi-sama!" The hiss turned into a growl, but still he would not let her up.

It was too close by far to what Kagewaki - or Naraku, whichever one it had been, if they were different at all - had done to her. She squirmed and flailed, trying to get away, unable to stand by and allow this to be done to her but strangely reluctant to harm Miroku.

He released one of her arms so he could reach down between them to move their clothes out of the way. Sango seized the opportunity, kicking furiously between his legs and lashing out with her free arm. He blocked the kick before she could do any damage, but she managed to score a line of deep gashes on his face; if she was lucky, they would be deep enough to scar.

He still remained eerily silent, as if the attack had not hurt at all. Horrified, Sango hesitated.

Then he seemed to come out of whatever trance had overtaken him and moved against her. He pushed her down, hard, and forced her legs wide apart.

"Houshi-sama, _why_?" Sango gasped, on the verge of tears as he thrust his hard length into her to the hilt.

It _hurt_.

It went beyond physical pain. That, she could have dealt with. She was a demon slayer, the last of the Taijiya. She knew how to deal with pain, to suffer it and move beyond it. But the violation of her trust threatened to consume her. Pain, fear, and doubt assaulted her as surely as the man on top of her.

Sango lay still on the floor beneath him and tried to close her mind to it. She had never been trained much in hand-to-hand combat, because it was too dangerous to attempt such things when fighting demons, but now she wished that she had. She wondered distantly if, in his awkwardly thrusting frenzy, Miroku would notice if she tried to strangle him. But she could not seem to wriggle her arms free from his vise-like grip, and knew she would get no chance to find out. Not until he was finished.

Distancing herself mentally as best as she could, pretending she was someone else dispassionately watching her debasement, Sango waited. She bided her time until he finished. She let him catch his breath even though it felt like his weight might crush her. She let him pull away and smirk in a remarkably self-satisfied way at her dishevelment. She waited until he was nearly out the door.

"Wait," she pleaded, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, then went after him.

For some reason she would never understand, he had waited. Did he think she had somehow _enjoyed_ that? A fit of fury overcame her at the thought.

She punched him as hard as she could. In the face. She didn't care if she broke her hand or his jaw, didn't notice the pain that reverberated up her arm from the force of the impact. He stumbled out the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Sango, not caring that he could easily come right back in and assault her again, broke down. She stumbled backward into the room, tears streaming down her face; her body was wracked by silent sobs; for a long time she thought she would be physically ill, but the feeling eventually subsided. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, wondering how she had ever allowed that man to convince her not to die.


	6. Chapter 6

Miroku's world had been reduced to a blurry haze that seemed somehow to have been tilted at a bizarre and dizzying angle. He blinked a few times, nearly slipping back into the soothing dark of unconsciousness, but a nagging thought kept him from drifting off. Something had roused him. Something had beaten him to a pulp and left him in a throbbing world of semi-conscious pain, too. He half wondered if the two somethings might not be one and the same.

It was not until he tried to move that he realized he had been lying on the floor, his head tipped back far enough to make his neck ache. It was not the world that had gone all awry, it was simply his viewpoint. Slowly he pushed with aching muscles and managed to sit up, but the motion made him feel very disoriented, even dizzy. Whatever had hit him, it had hit him hard. But whatever it was, he could not remember it.

"Houshi-sama, _why_?" Sango cried from somewhere out of sight, but the words reverberated strangely, as if in a dream. She had asked him that before... or had she spoken just now? He could not remember, but...

Sango. The name restored some sense of mental clarity, even if it did nothing for the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Sango. She wanted to know why... Why what? Had he done something? Not done something?

He realized slowly, with a growing sense of dread, that he was in the hall and not in the room where he usually dwelt with Sango. Something was very, very wrong.

He scrambled to his feet as best he could, which amounted to little more than gracelessly sprawling the short distance to the door. The door was wide open, but he could not pass. He could clearly see through the portal, but the barrier that surrounded the room would no longer let him through. And that was not the worst of it.

When he first looked into the room, searching for some sign of Sango or at least an indication of what had happened to him, he thought his eyes must be deceiving him. He thought that his wits must have been addled by whatever blow had sent him into unconsciousness, and now he was seeing things that were not there. But he knew, somehow, that what he was seeing was no mere vision; it was real, and happening right in front of him. He could not comprehend _how_, but there it was.

Or rather, there _he_ was. He watched as he forced Sango down and raped her on the floor of her prison. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny what his eyes showed him. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see right through himself like a ghost, wondering for a moment if he had been possessed, his spirit knocked right out of his body, before realizing that it could not possibly be him taking such vile liberties with Sango, but Naraku. Naraku, the shape-changer.

Naraku, with Sango.

Detached, confused disgust gave way to black fury. He shouted wordless rage and hurled himself forward, determined to stop this at any cost, but found his determination dashed to pieces against a rock-solid barrier. He tried again, focusing all the tattered remains of his spiritual power into the attempt, but it did him no good. The barrier was immovable.

And it seemed, as he watched from the wrong side of the barrier, that even time slid to a stop. It seemed to go on and on with no hope of surcease. The worst part was not just in witnessing such a disgusting act at close range, but in the helplessness he felt. He had let himself believe that Naraku would not make a move so long as he stood guard over Sango, in some way he had even thought that together they could stand against their captor and survive. And yet, here he was, forced only to watch while Naraku yet again did as he pleased with the unfortunate slayer.

Miroku wondered furiously why the abuse she had suffered before had not been enough to slake Naraku's thirst for violence. He simply could not understand what the point of this might be; or perhaps, he realized in a sudden flash of clarity, it was rather that he did not _want_ to understand.

He had helped many young women escape horrific situations in the past, but swiftly realized that he could do nothing to stop this, had no hope of intervening. It was not long before he was forced to conclude that this was exactly what Naraku wanted. This wasn't just about Sango, it was about Miroku as well. The barrier would not let him through no matter what he tried. He guessed that it would also mask any sign of his presence, including any sounds that he made, but that did not stop him from screaming obscenities until he was hoarse.

Naraku had used them both. He had allowed them to believe that their alliance went unnoticed when in fact it was all a part of his plan.

Miroku was shaking by the time he realized the deed was, at last, done. Naraku had risen almost unnoticed, leaving Sango where she lay, and was walking toward the door.

He stepped aside so as not to be run into as Naraku exited the room, half wondering if he ought to try to throttle the bastard and end it all here and now. Or perhaps the kazaana would be more fitting. It seemed to take forever for Naraku to emerge from the room; Miroku hung suspended in an agony of indecision. If he attempted to fight Naraku now, would he be strong enough? He had a feeling that at best he could hope for a swift death, and at worst the silent half-life of one of the castle servants.

In the end, the choice was not Miroku's to make. Naraku did not walk calmly or sedately through the door; rather, he stumbled gracelessly into the hallway. A glance through the open doorway revealed that Sango had struck him.

She had made the first move. In that moment, Miroku knew he would follow through on what she had begun.

His expression darkening, he wordlessly pulled the string of protective beads from its place around his arm. All he had to do now was raise that arm and open his hand, and Naraku would be pulled in and destroyed forever.

The servants, Miroku told himself, were already dead, devoid of the souls that had once made them human. It was no matter to him if their lifeless, puppets' bodies were pulled into the void along with the puppetmaster. Even so, it gave him a moment's pause. If he was wrong, and the servants were still human but merely possessed... he was not sure he could forgive himself for being responsible for their deaths.

"Think before you attempt to defy me, monk," Naraku sneered without even turning to look.

Miroku barely noticed. He was overcome by pain. It ricocheted up and down his arm, sharp as the edge of a knife.

_The kazaana!_

He could not help but panic a little. Had Naraku made him watch only to open the kazaana and kill him afterward?

His fingers spasmed uncontrollably as the pain increased to unbearable intensity. Miroku dropped the beads and clamped his left hand over his right, as if the pressure might somehow stop the violent twitching in his muscles. For a few intense moments, red clouded his vision. He feared that this pain might truly signal the beginning of his end, too soon to save Sango -

And then it began to fade. Breathless and unable to stand, Miroku sank to his knees.

He was not surprised in the least to find that Naraku had disappeared.

 

The incident haunted Miroku for days afterward. The memory of watching as he ruthlessly raped that poor unfortunate woman plagued his dreams and lurked even while he was awake. He felt disgusting, as if Naraku's taint had polluted him simply by virtue of having borrowed his form; he had to remind himself again and again that it was Naraku that had done the deed, and he himself had been but an innocent bystander.

At first he was afraid to go to Sango. If she had not realized Naraku's deception, than Miroku's presence would do far more harm than good. But when he finally gathered the courage to risk approaching her, it quickly became apparent that he could not go to her even if he wanted to. The barrier surrounding her room would no longer allow him to pass. He was trapped outside, forced again into the role of helpless onlooker.

He thought to meditate, to gather his mental and spiritual strength in order that he might attempt to break through the barrier. He thought that perhaps by dint of sheer stubborn idiocy he might get through to Sango and somehow be able to lead them both from this hell. But he couldn't concentrate. Whenever he sought to center himself, his thoughts scattered in a dozen directions at once and try as he might he could not seem to bring them to order.

The kazaana provided a constant aching counterpoint to the disorder in his mind, seeming to be the sole point of stability in his life. As if he needed the distraction, or the continued reminder that he survived only by Naraku's whim.

After a day or two, Miroku began to spend his time in the kitchen rather than lurking in the hall outside Sango's room. He could not reach her, only watch her. But he had to wonder to what purpose he was allowed that small glimpse into her life. It only made his heart ache or filled him with rage to see her like this, and he knew enough of Naraku's tricks to know that that was what Naraku wanted. Naraku thrived on pain and suffering, especially that which he himself had inflicted. And so Miroku resolved, eventually and with great difficulty, not to give him that satisfaction.

There was nothing he could do for Sango anyway. He might be able to see into her room without a problem, but it was clear that she was unaware of his presence. And it only took one look at her to see that she was broken, perhaps beyond repair. She had reverted back to the way she had been when he first met her, sullen and silent, a mere shadow of the warrior she had been.

Now that he was no longer permitted to care for her, the servants returned. Their silence was somehow even more oppressive than it ever had been before. He kept a wary eye on them, half expecting some new treachery every time they appeared, but they summarily ignored him. Their sole purpose was to care for Sango.

Perhaps, Miroku reflected bitterly on more than one occasion, 'care' was the wrong word.

She would not eat, so the servants worked in teams of two and three to force water and broth down her throat. After the first couple of times, Miroku stopped following them. He could not stand to see them pass so effortlessly through the barrier that kept him out, and he could not bear to watch them force Sango to live. He hated to see how she fought them, yearning for death, only to face the inevitable betrayal of her body's demand for life.

At the same time, he could not bring himself to try to stop them. He was certain that whatever nourishment they brought her was all that was keeping her alive and, being the rather selfish creature he was, he did not want her to die.

When he finally realized that he had become determined not just to ensure her continued existence, but to _save_ her, he was not sure whether he should laugh or despair. There was no one around to ask, and he had no better way to spend his time, so he did a bit of both.

 

Time dragged on interminably. As much as Miroku detested solitude, he knew it would serve him better to accept it than to dwell on what might have been.

And he tried to accept it, but that was easier said than done.

Sango was a hard woman to forget. There were times when, despite his best efforts, he could not stop himself from thinking about her. He would find himself worrying about her almost without realizing it. He wondered when she might at last be allowed to find peace, or how much she was suffering. More than anything, he wondered if she hated him now for what she thought he had done, or if she had somehow managed to see through Naraku's ploy. He had made a point of warning her of Naraku's shapeshifting ability and of his cunning, but Miroku had no way of knowing whether or not those warnings had been of any use.

He had just finished walking this mental path for the hundredth time when a trio of servants went past. Miroku glanced up at them more out of instinct than interest.

And yet, as the three women made their way silently past him, something piqued his curiosity.

By now he was at least passingly familiar with the servants that tended to Sango. He could recognize most of them, and had even come up with names for a few. But this time, something was different.

One of the women was much younger than the others, barely matured into womanhood at all, really. And when Miroku looked at her, he felt a flash of deeper recognition. He had seen this woman in the castle before and felt a strange sense of familiarity, which he had always simply shrugged off. He had made himself familiar with many women in the past. It was hardly surprising that he should see passing similarities in other women and be reminded. But now he was increasingly certain that he had seen this particular young woman somewhere else before his imprisonment here, though he could not recall where or when, or what her name might have been.

So he waited and let them pass without comment or interruption. And while they were gone, no doubt tending to Sango in their ungentle way, he wracked his memory for any hint of the young servant woman.

It was there, he could tell, but it was always just out of reach.

When he heard the servants returning, he had made up his mind. It would probably get him nowhere, but he had to try something. So when they drew close to him, he insinuated himself between the youngest woman and the others.

It was a foolish ploy. He would have a few moments at best before the other servants realized what he was up to and returned for their companion, and he had no idea what he was going to do before then.

When he stepped in front of her, catching her shoulders in his hands, the young woman stopped walking and looked up at him. He met her gaze, half fearing she would simply toss him aside with the same inhuman strength the other servants had displayed, and thought frantically. He knew her, he was sure of it. And as he stared into her empty eyes, something finally slid into place in his memory.

He did know her. Her story came rushing back to him. She had been only a child when they first met. And now...

"Koharu," he said, suddenly remembering the girl's name.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then her facade seemed to suddenly crack. She shuddered, gasped, broke miraculously free of Naraku's control - or was perhaps deliberately released. Miroku did not particularly care which.

She stared at him again, but her eyes were slowly overcome with clarity. She recognized him. "Houshi-sama?" she asked, half-stuttering, half wavering. "Where am I? Why are you here, again?"

So he was right. This was the same girl; she recognized him even in her supreme disorientation. "I saved your life once, when you were still a child," he told her. "I could not knowingly leave you in danger now."

"I was in danger?" she asked, faltering. It was obvious that she had no memory of how she had come to be in this place, working as a servant for Naraku. It was probably better that way, at least for her. "And you saved me." That part was not a question. Koharu had been a sweet and impressionable girl and had never once doubted him. "Thank you, Houshi-sama!"

She flung herself toward him, into his waiting arms. He had expected this, and held her close for a moment, trying not to let on just how much comfort he drew from such fleeting contact. He would have liked to spend more time reacquainting himself with Koharu, but he knew this might be his one chance to make a move. It was now or never. He had to seize this chance. "We are not safe, Koharu. Not yet."

She gazed up at him, eyes wide with fear. "I don't remember how I got here. That's very bad, isn't it?"

He nodded. "We are prisoners of a powerful demon," he began to explain.

"But you are a monk. You have holy powers. You can defeat him, right?"

"I cannot reach him," he confessed. "There is a barrier here which I cannot pass. But you, who he thinks to be his brainwashed servant, can."

Koharu trembled for a moment. And then she steeled herself to calm. "What must I do?"

"There are other people here that he has enslaved. Find a way to free them, if you can. And then... you must bring the demon, Naraku, to me." He spoke quickly, if quietly. This plan was desperate and suicidal, but at this point he was ready to risk anything for freedom. To save Koharu, Sango, the other humans... and whatever might be left of himself. "Find him. Tell him whatever it takes to get him to come here, to me. And then run. As fast as you can. Get behind me if you can, or hide in a side room. But you must not stay in the hall or you will be killed."

She touched his hand, the one that was bound against the kazaana. "You're going to use this to destroy him, aren't you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yes."

Her gaze dropped to the floor beneath their feet. "You've saved me twice now, Houshi-sama," she said quietly. "I'll do everything I can to help you in return."

She seemed earnest, but he wondered how far he could trust her. This could be another of Naraku's ploys; this could be Naraku he held in his arms, or she could still be under the demon's control, playing along to cause him more anguish. But he had to do something, and soon. Sango would not survive much longer without his intervention, and it suddenly seemed more imperative than ever that she live to find happiness and freedom once again.

"Koharu," he began, gripping her by the shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "This will be the most dangerous thing you have ever done. You must be careful."

"I will, Houshi-sama."

Feeling far beyond conflicted, Miroku sent Koharu on her way. He knew there was a very high chance that he had just sent her to her death, and that the guilt for that might haunt him for the rest of his life, however short a time that might be. But it was too late for regrets now. All he could do was wait. And hope and fear, the tension rising inside him with each passing heartbeat.

For a long time, nothing happened. The halls were as silent as ever, yet somehow the quiet seemed even more ominous than before. It seemed that at any moment he would see his plan begin to unravel; his mind raced, full of fears both rational and irrational. And still nothing happened.

Miroku had been waiting a very long time, long enough to wonder if he might never find out what had become of Koharu at all, when finally something did happen.

One moment the hall in front of him was empty, the next it was filled with darkness. Poisonous miasma swirled everywhere.

It all happened so swiftly that Miroku was momentarily stunned. Where there had been empty air a heartbeat before, Naraku now loomed over him. He did not even have time to pull the rosary free from his arm before slimy tentacles, erupting from where Naraku's legs ought to have been, seized him and hauled him into the air. Miroku thought of a thousand things to say and in the end chose silence.

Anger swirled in Naraku's fathomless black eyes; Miroku nearly crowed with glee. Something had not gone according to the bastard's plan, and he could not help but take pleasure in that knowledge. Any victory, no matter how small, was something to be cherished.

Miroku's satisfaction vanished in an instant.

Naraku released him abruptly. Something thudded to the ground nearby a moment later. Miroku knew without looking what it would be, but he forced himself to look anyway. He must accept responsibility for the suffering he had caused.

So he looked. Koharu's body lay twisted and lifeless on the floor at his feet. Her kosode was stained with blood, but it was not torn. The blood might not be hers at all, he realized with a pang. There was no sign of the other servants, so there was a small chance that she had succeeded in freeing them before Naraku caught on. At the very least, the demon's fury told him that Koharu's rebellion had been unexpected.

Naraku's reaction, however, was exactly what Miroku had expected. He braced himself for impending death.

"You cannot escape, houshi," Naraku said.

Miroku reached for the beads that bound the kazaana... and gagged on a fresh gout of deadly shouki. He choked, eyes watering, and could not breathe. The lack of air made him dizzy; he fell to his knees, coughing and gasping ineffectually at the poisoned air.

Just when he was certain he would lose consciousness - for the last time - Naraku seized him again and drew him up and out of the miasma. Tears streaming from his eyes, he was forced to regard his captor.

"Why won't you just kill me?" he demanded weakly, wishing all the while that he could try for the kazaana again. But he was bound too tightly by the tentacles to make any attempt at resistance.

Naraku did not deign to answer his question. They merely swept silently down the hallway toward, Miroku realized dimly, Sango's room. It was only when they reached that destination that Naraku spoke again.

"Keep her alive," was all he said, just as he had once before, an eternity ago. And then Miroku found himself tossed through the air and into Sango's room, passing through the barrier without a problem.

The last thing he heard as he hit the ground and rolled to a stop was Naraku's voice. He could not even be sure he actually heard it, for it was so faint as to be less a whisper and more a caressing of the mind. "If she dies, so do you."

As the blackness closed in around him, he thought that might not be such a bad option, after all.

 

Sango was there when he woke up. It seemed somehow silly of him to notice it like that, with surprise. Of course Sango was there. She couldn't leave. Naraku would not allow it. He must have some sort of plan for her that went beyond merely keeping her as his prisoner, though Miroku could not - dared not - guess what it might be.

To his surprise, she was cautiously curious rather than afraid. His sudden and rather violent reappearance seemed to have made an impression.

"Houshi-sama," she said, hesitating slightly. She must have been watching him for signs of awareness. "You're alive."

"Yes," he grunted. With some effort he managed to get himself properly arranged, so he could sit rather than simply sprawl on the floor. "For the moment, anyway."

When she made no immediate response, he wondered whether she was happy to see him again or merely surprised. He was not entirely sure, himself.

He felt he should tell her what had happened, and now was as good a time as any to make their positions clear. So he forced himself to meet her gaze and admit, "Naraku has ordered me to keep you alive."

"You," she murmured at last, as if taking note of his haggard condition. It must be obvious that there was more to it, but she did not ask. Instead, she seemed to think for a few moments before blurting out, "It wasn't you that hurt me. He kept us apart because it wasn't..."

"It wasn't," he agreed. It was not much, but he was pleasantly surprised that she had seen through Naraku's deception after all. Perhaps the situation was not as dire as he had feared it might be.

Sango drew a sudden sharp breath and turned away, as if she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. "It wasn't you. I _know_ it wasn't, but every time I look at you, I -"

Every time she looked at him, she would remember what Naraku had done to her in his form. Every time she looked at him, she would relive all the fear and pain of that act. She would never again see just his face, she would always see Naraku in his eyes. From that day forward, she would always suffer just from the sight of him. Miroku's right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist so tight it was painful.

In just that small span of time, Naraku had effortlessly destroyed whatever fragile alliance they had managed to build between them. Miroku could feel his hopes for escape begin to crumble all over again, and for once he had no idea how to stop it.

"Taijiya-sama, you cannot let him win."

"And why not?" she snapped, but her anger was only half-hearted. "So I can suffer more?"

Miroku made to protest, but she interrupted him. Her voice dull, she murmured, "If I live, he will only destroy me again."

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. "What can he possibly do to you that he has not already done?"

She met his gaze again, drawing out the silence for a long time. The empty look in her eyes chilled him to the core. She waited until he was well and truly unsettled to land the final blow. In a perfectly calm voice, she told him, "I am with child."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to LuxKen27 for not only convincing me not to delete this story, but for inadvertently giving me the kick in the ass I needed to finally finish chapter 7.

**Chapter Seven**

In the taut silence that followed Sango's declaration, Miroku merely stared at her. His expression betrayed nothing; in that moment she had no idea what she had hoped to gain by the admission. His pity? His loathing? None of it would have come close to filling the void of despair within her. And yet somehow she had expected the sharing of this secret to make her feel better.

It did not.

If anything, she felt worse. Vertigo overwhelmed her as fear and self-loathing came to a head. She was seated firmly on the floor, and yet she was falling: spiraling downward into the deepest, darkest depths of herself. She felt it as certainly as if the floor had opened up to swallow her whole.

She had not meant to tell Miroku of her fears until that very moment, when he had appeared suddenly before her again after his long absence. She had thought she would hate him, or that she would stubbornly refuse to speak to him no matter what he did or said. And she had done exactly the opposite.

She knew that this 'child', if there was even a child at all, was little more than a terror in her mind, planted there by Naraku's schemes... but now that she had actually spoken of it, it was as if she could feel it writhing and twisting and growing inside of her, looming larger and more malicious with each moment that passed. It made her want to be sick. It made her want to die. Again. She would give up her life willingly if it meant Naraku's spawn could not come into the world.

After an eternity of stunned silence Miroku murmured something he no doubt meant to be comforting, but Sango barely heard him. She was aware of the intonation of his voice, but his words escaped her completely. She had reached the culmination of her fears, the precipice from which she was certain she could never retreat, only fall.

She turned away because she could not bear to look at Miroku any longer. Every time she looked at him, memories shivered through her, memories of debasement and pain.

Her thoughts raced, darkly furious. She had known from the start that this was possible, even likely, to occur. She had simply thought that she would die before it would ever matter. And still she had allowed this man to convince her to live. She had allowed him to earn her trust, and because of that Naraku had been able to hurt her again.

She had clung to foolish hope only to have it dashed time and again.

And she would do it again. What she wanted almost desperately, even now, was for Miroku to give her back some of that hope. The promise of it teased at her mind always.

And now she could not even look at him without pain or fear crowding her mind, making hope impossible.

"You must kill me," she bit out.

"Taijiya-sama..."

"You _must._ I cannot bring his child into the world," she said, her voice rough and fierce. "I will not. And since he will not allow me to kill myself, _you _must do it."

She knew he could not, or would not, do as she asked but she pressed him anyway. She had to demand this of him, because this madness had to end. Naraku's spawn could not be allowed to enter the world, even if that meant Miroku must betray even his strongest convictions. Surely some part of him could see that.

"Taijiya-sama... Sango..." His voice was tortured, as if he could not quite believe it had come to this, after all. "I can't kill you."

She wondered angrily whether the refusal came from his own innate sense of right and wrong, or if Naraku had made some sort of bargain with the monk. It was all too easy to believe. _Keep the woman alive, keep her suffering, and I will make sure your curse does not consume you._ She could practically hear that slithery-seductive voice. She knew from bitter experience how easy it was to let go of conscience and morals when faced with impending death.

The roiling tide of her emotions gave a sudden turn and Miroku abruptly became the focus of her anger.

She had thought he might refuse her or make some other protest, but that had not prepared her for the reality of being thwarted again, or the rage that it might awaken inside her. She had not really thought herself capable of anger anymore, but there was no denying it now. In her impotent fury it seemed as if she had only one option left; she would make him hate her, and hope that in anger he would be willing to do what was necessary.

"If you knew the whole truth," she said, preparing to reveal her final secret, hoping it would be enough, "you would end my life." She could feel his gaze upon her, was tempted to look at him, and managed not to. Quietly, she told him what should long ago have become obvious. "Your friends are not going to save us."

"Inuyasha and Kagome aren't the kind to just give up," he pointed out. "Even if they think I am dead or that I abandoned them, they will see this quest through to the end. They will see to it that Naraku meets his end, once they have gathered the shards of the Shikon no Tama -"

"They didn't give up. They're _dead_," she snapped, impatient with dancing around the truth. "I killed them."

She could not resist the urge to look at him, then, in spite of the pain it caused her. He was staring at her in silent, abject horror, but where she had hoped to kindle rage, she saw only disbelief and despair.

"Houshi-sama," she said uselessly as he got silently, unsteadily to his feet and walked away from her. _Tell me it's okay_, she thought_. Tell me none of it's my fault, that I was tricked, I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't deserve this_. And at the same time, another part of her, deep down inside, pleaded all the more insistently: _Tell me it's all my fault, that I deserved each and every thing he did to me. Tell me I deserve your hatred. Tell me I deserve to die for what I did._

She had expected Miroku to leave her alone, at least while he collected his own thoughts, but he did not. Instead, he paced slowly near the door that led to the interior hallway. His face was like a mask to her; she could not tell at all what he might be thinking. "You're sure that they're dead?" he asked at last, and she knew with a sense of growing dread that she had just done exactly what Naraku had meant for her to do all along. "Inuyasha is strong..."

"I slit the half-demon's throat and put my sword through the girl's heart," she admitted. "They are dead."

_And I would have killed you, too, if my strength had held out long enough for me to find you._

She could not quite bring herself to tell him that last part.

Miroku was quiet as he took in her words. She could tell, now, that he still did not want to believe her. Of course he wanted to cling to that last bit of hope. In his place, she would have done the same. But she knew what she had seen and what she had done. And she wanted him to know it, too.

Of course he would defend the Taijiya warrior, the slayer of demons, the brave and noble woman as wrongfully imprisoned as he himself had been. But the murderer, the woman who had slain his companions? He might feel differently about her.

She watched his face, eager for any sign that she had gotten through to him at last.

"You did not know," he murmured, his tone insistent. "You could not have known."

She had not known, but she had not questioned, either. She had mistrusted Naraku from the very beginning, but in the end she had chosen revenge before truth. She had questioned nothing until her imprisonment began, and even then her mistrust had been grudging and slow to waken. She had thought to die before any of her actions would matter, and so had pushed all thoughts of consequences from her mind. It was only now that the reality of what she had done and what had been done to her was beginning to truly sink in. It was as if, until she had spoken and brought it to light, it had not truly happened.

_I killed two innocent people. And I would have killed more. Because Naraku told me to. _And: _I laid quietly beneath him and did not fight when he raped me and got me with child._

Miroku continued to pace the room. Sango barely noticed his agitation, nor the way he finally stalked over to the door to the courtyard, tested the barrier to see if he could pass, and at long last went out. She was too consumed by the rush of her own desperate thoughts. It was not until much later, when night had descended, that she realized he was gone after all.

She had not thought she would miss the monk's hovering presence, not when she had already been alone for so long, not when her most vivid memories were of him (_not_ him, she reminded herself) forcing himself upon her... but she did. Almost as soon as she noticed his absence, she found herself longing for human contact, wishing that he would return. She knew she had about as much a chance of him ending her life as she did of being forgiven, but she missed having an ally. _I should never have told him about his companions,_ she thought ruefully. Her plan had gone even more terribly awry than she had thought it would.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

She told herself that she would not cry, had tried to believe that she was no longer capable of such a thing anyway. She deserved so much worse than mere scorn, and yet it was Miroku's quiet disappointment that wounded her more deeply than anything else he could have done.

She could not stop the tears. When she closed her eyes, she saw only Father, his eyes filled with gentle love and pride - and something inside her broke down at last, knowing that she would never see her father again, that no one would ever look at her that way again. She curled in on herself and sobbed, remembering her brother Kohaku and how she had always held him close to her and chased his nightmares away. But Kohaku was gone, just like Father and Mother and all the other Taijiya.

There was no one to wake her from this nightmare, nor to soothe her back to peaceful dreaming. Even if she were to escape from this trap somehow, there was no village of the demon slayers waiting for her. Everyone she had ever known or loved was dead and gone.

The one small blessing was that none of them had lived to see just how far she could fall.

At some point during the night, exhaustion and pain overwhelmed her and the world fell away as sleep consumed her.

 

When Sango awoke in the morning, Miroku had returned. She stared at him with listless, bleary eyes and wondered if he would let her starve herself to death as she had once before tried to do. Probably not, she reflected, because Naraku seemed to derive great satisfaction from forcing the monk to keep her alive.

Days passed, and then a few days turned into ten, and then more, and gradually life began to return to what passed for normal in this place. Miroku attended her, as Naraku required him to do, but he was much more withdrawn now than he ever had been in the past. He spoke only reluctantly, and it seemed that the loss of his friends had hollowed him out inside and stripped away the last spark of life within him in a way that nothing else had managed to do during his long imprisonment.

It was exactly what Sango had hoped to do, but she found her success less than fulfilling. Of course, she had once again not intended to live to see the consequences of her actions.

_It seems that I am forever not dying when I should,_ she thought.

With each day that passed, the desire to die grew stronger within her. And gradually, bit by horrifying bit, Sango's belly began to swell with the child that was growing inside her. She knew, on some level, that Naraku's spawn was feeding on her fear and despair, growing stronger along with her dread. It certainly seemed to be growing faster than any human child. She had long ago lost track of how many days or even months she had been Naraku's prisoner, but it seemed that she should not be so visibly pregnant yet. Even so, she could not deny the proof.

Miroku seemed not to have noticed yet. The loose folds of his kesa wrapped around her hid the lines of her body quite well. She wondered if she ought to tell him that time was running out, or if the sudden growth of the demon spawn in her belly was really just in her imagination after all.

For the first time, she began to wonder what the existence of Naraku's child meant for Miroku. What would happen to him if Naraku had a successor? If Naraku died, but the child lived, would the curse of the kazaana continue? She had no answers, and she did not dare to broach the subject.

But she wondered nonetheless.

 

More and more often now the monk seemed to retreat to the courtyard. What he was seeking there, Sango could not have said, but she envied him the freedom of the outdoors.

She returned to her habit of sitting just inside the open door, which Miroku obligingly left open, where the sun could at least warm her for a short time each day. Sometimes she would lie on her back and look up at the small bit of blue sky that she could see from inside, but more often she would watch Miroku as he meditated.

If he ever noticed that she watched, he did not let on that he knew, but somehow he always stayed within her line of sight.

This new routine was soothing, in its quiet and lonely way. But even the deceptive peacefulness of routine faded swiftly. Each day that passed brought the inevitable outcome of her situation closer and closer to reality. Sango could no longer hide the fear from herself, much less the monk. It was as if it was taking on a life of its own.

One day he approached her, crouching down in front of where she sat so they were of a level. "Are you certain that you are pregnant?" he asked.

For a moment she had no answer. He did not usually favor bluntness.

"Yes," she said at last, and wondered if he would demand some sort of proof. But if he doubted her, he did not show it.

"When it is born, Naraku's offspring must be destroyed," he said.

She had never seen such sadness – or such fierce determination – in a person's eyes before.

 

Sango thought things would change after that; she was not wrong. All this time the room's fire pit had lain cold and empty. Now Miroku brought supplies from the kitchen and built a fire there. When he brought food and water, Sango hesitated only a moment, then ate and drank her fill. And when Miroku told her that the spawn of Naraku would only grow stronger the more she despaired, she believed him.

"You must be strong one more time," he said, and that part was more difficult.

She would try, but she could not eliminate all fear and pain from her heart. Somehow, she felt that Naraku must surely know that the two of them had made amends as best they could. But if Naraku did know that they had reconciled, he took no action against them.

The days crept on with interminable slowness, as they had for so very long now, but somehow Miroku's acceptance of her pregnancy brought solace to Sango. If he believed her, then maybe the creature growing in her womb wasn't just the terrified dream of a tormented woman. If he said the child must be destroyed, then maybe that meant there was a chance for her.

There it was again: hope.

She had thought never to know that feeling again, but it was there nonetheless. She wondered if Miroku felt the same way, but fear kept her silent on the subject. Even so, she had a feeling he did.

Whatever conclusion he'd come to through his long days of meditation, Miroku no longer avoided her presence the way he had since she admitted to killing his friends and destroying any chance they had of being rescued. If anything, he was more determinedly pleasant and courteous than ever.

At first she wondered what he was trying to accomplish, but eventually she realized that he had already told her. If their suffering gave Naraku strength, then they must choose not to suffer.

It was the most difficult battle she had ever fought.

She forced herself to look at Miroku and not look away. She reminded herself why she called him _Houshi-sama_ and why he called her _Taijiya-sama_. She reminded herself that Miroku would never willingly harm her.

It hurt exquisitely because she still remembered the way Naraku had borrowed his form and used it to hurt and debase her, but she could deal with pain. She was a demon slayer, born and bred, and she could fight through the pain. Naraku had taken much from her, but this he could not take.

The realization was exhilarating. Liberating.

Miroku knew as well as she did the first morning she awoke and looked to him where he sat beside her, and did not feel the familiar twinge of shame and fear.

She almost had not noticed that he had stopped keeping his distance. Rather than taking up a spot across the room from her or out in the yard to meditate, as he had always done in the past, he remained steadily by her side. Even when he slept, he was close by, although he made sure never to come close enough to cause her any distress.

She no longer found it irritating when he tried to engage her in idle conversation. She told him more about her past and her family and the village where she'd grown up than she had thought she would ever tell anyone, except perhaps the man she might one day have married. That alone seemed a small miracle. And he told her stories, too, that sounded like secrets instead of fantastical tales.

Some of his unflinching calm seemed to have rubbed off on her, as well; she found it easier by the day to live moment-to-moment, without thought to what horrors might await her in the near future. Somewhere beyond the walls of her prison, Naraku was surely biding his time and waiting for… something. But for now, she did not worry about that.

For now she focused on the sky outside the door and the warmth of the sun on her skin. She focused on Miroku's gentle strength, so generously given to a woman who should have been an enemy. And she focused on the way that Naraku's spawn had grown quiet and still inside her, as if her hard-fought peace of mind were strangling it.

She braced herself every day for a strike from their captor, but none ever came.

"Houshi-sama," she said one day when the tranquility had become particularly unsettling. "What do you think is going on?"

He was sitting beside her in the sun, looking out over the perfect serenity of the yard, sitting closer to her than she had ever thought she would allow. He did not look at her or speak for a long time, but his hand rested gently atop her own and squeezed in a gesture that managed to be reassuring in spite of everything.

"I do not know," he said at last. "Naraku is waiting for something… that is all I can guess."

There was a strange warmth where his flesh touched hers, almost burning her, which might have been the manifestation of his spiritual power. He had not used such power in all the time he'd been trapped here with her; she'd seen him standing with his hands pressed against the barrier a few times, but nothing had ever come of it. In the end she had wondered if he truly possessed the power of a monk at all.

Now she wondered instead if that power would - or even could - be enough to destroy Naraku, and did not pull her hand away.

It was a small gesture, but Sango reveled in it. It was small, but fierce. Defiant. Let Naraku see. Let him try one last time to defeat them. This time, they would win or they would die. Either way, it would be over.

Even without speaking of it directly, they had both arrived at the same conclusion: the next time Naraku made a move to harm either of them, he would not succeed.

And in that shared determination, there was strength and security. She only hoped they wouldn't regret it.

 

That night when Sango laid down to sleep, Miroku lay beside her. Back to back, they were as ready as they could be for whatever Naraku might attempt. But the night was quiet and calm around them, and there was no sign of their captor.

It was pain that roused Sango from sleep in the dark depths of the night. Like a fire deep in her core, it would not let her rest. Gritting her teeth against it, lest she make a sound and disturb Miroku, she rose and staggered a few steps.

Her heart raced from the effort and her thoughts reeled.

Something warm and wet and sticky slipped down the inside of her thigh. She knew without looking what she would find there: blood.

She knew, but could scarcely believe. It was easy enough to check; the fabric of Miroku's kesa was only wrapped loosely around her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she slipped a hand past the fabric and touched her fingers to the sticky substance that still dripped down her leg. Furtive now, afraid of what might happen when Naraku discovered what was happening, she withdrew her hand and looked at it. Some of the fluid had adhered to her fingers. It looked almost black in the darkness, but there was no mistaking what it was.

Sango stood silent in the dimness for several minutes and let the tears of joy drip down her face. Blood. Her cycle had finally returned... or, if she had ever truly been with child at all, she would not be for much longer.

She waited for a long time after that, counting the moments and hardly daring to hope, but the pain eventually came again. Muscles deep inside her contracted painfully, and the ache of it wracked through her entire body, yet she welcomed it. Here was an end, at last...

When the pain had subsided somewhat, she waited again. And eventually the pain came again. And again, stronger this time, stabbing. She must have made some sort of noise in her ecstatic agony, because when she opened her eyes again, Miroku was sitting up and looking at her with dark, unreadable eyes. The fire had burned so low that even from this small distance she could hardly see him.

"The wall," he murmured.

She turned her head slightly and noticed what had drawn his attention: she was slumped, leaning heavily against the wall. In her pain, she had not realized it. "The barrier is down," she hissed back.

"Yes," he agreed, standing, "but why?"

She had no answer for that, did not even want to think about the implications. And yet if the barrier was down, this might be their only chance for escape. Or it might be yet another trap.

"Sango," Miroku murmured. He had come over to stand beside her while she was lost in her own fearful thoughts. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," she said, struggling to draw breath. It was a lie. She simply did not wish to put voice to her fears, did not want to confess the painful spasms yet, though they seemed to come closer together and harder each time until she had no choice but to suspect they were labor pains, rather than the return of her monthly cycle. But if that were true, the timing was wrong... or else she had vastly misjudged just how much time she had spent as Naraku's prisoner. It didn't seem that she should be more than three or four months along, if that.

"You're bleeding," Miroku realized.

She glanced down. The trickle of blood had finally inched its way to her ankle and was in the process of creating a small dark stain on the floor, visible even in the light of the flickering embers. She was surprised that he had noticed. She certainly had not. "Yes," she said, elated.

Before Miroku could respond, something moved in the hallway outside their room, fleetingly passing in front of the gap where Miroku had left the door slightly open. Miroku met her gaze for an instant, then went to investigate. Sango followed gingerly as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Without the barrier in place to keep her in, Sango was able to leave her prison for the first time. She would have been overjoyed if not for the pain, and the wariness of having suddenly encountered another person in this hell.

A little way down the hall, the woman paused and turned when she heard Miroku slide the door open. She was not tall, but she was imposing, with her stern face and dressed as she was in the garb of a miko. Seeing her face, Sango could hardly believe her eyes. Standing before her now was the woman she had killed alongside the half-demon Inuyasha an eternity ago. The same woman, or her twin...

"Kikyou-sama," Miroku murmured.

Not the same woman, then. Perhaps a sister, or...

"Who is she?" Sango asked, her voice hushed. "She looks just like..."

"It is a long story," he told her. "Kikyou died a long time ago." Sango felt dread creep anew into her heart. "But she was reincarnated as Kagome, and a witch used a part of Kagome's soul to reanimate Kikyou's body. Even in this form, she has incredible spiritual power... maybe even enough to put an end to Naraku."

A woman with the power to kill Naraku and purify the Shikon no Tama... and she was _here_. And to judge by the look on her face, she had come here for only one reason: to destroy Naraku.

"I had thought she might be destroyed when Kagome was..." he trailed off, as if he could not bring himself to finish the thought.

Sango did not respond. She could not. Pain gripped her again, fiercer and hotter than before; she thought she might fall to her knees, but somehow managed to remain on her feet. As she fought against the pain, willing her body to fight harder to expel Naraku's spawn, the miko approached her.

She felt delirious, feverish, at the icy touch of Kikyou's fingers against her forehead. The fingers were damp, almost like wet clay.

"Kikyou-sama," she heard Miroku say, "is she..."

"She has been poisoned by shouki," Kikyou said. Her voice was calm and detached, soothing. "It is very likely that she will die from this, no matter what we do."

"And she..."

"She is miscarrying. We have some time yet."

"Kill him," Sango gasped, no longer certain who she was talking to. The pain had not begun to fade this time, as it had before, and she had the sense that it would not fade now until she had either miscarried or died.

Miroku looked... angry. "I won't leave you here to die alone."

"If I'm going to die, then _you_ must kill Naraku in my place."

"Sango..."

How strange, to hear him say her name when he had insisted upon "Taijiya-sama" for so long... "_Go_. If you don't, she will leave you behind."

He hesitated a moment longer, but he knew she was right. He had to follow, because Kikyou had already turned away and gone down the hallway without them, and without Kikyou they had no chance to succeed. He glanced at the miko's retreating figure for a moment, then back to Sango. "I'll come back for you," he said, and then he was gone, loping down the hall after Kikyou.

"I'll be waiting," Sango murmured, and hoped she'd spoken the truth just now. But as another wave of unrelenting pain washed over her, she wasn't so sure.


	8. Chapter 8

Miroku hastened down the corridor after Kikyou, but his thoughts remained with Sango back in the prison they had shared for so long. He hated to leave her alone now, when she was so obviously suffering and the end might well be at hand, but he had little choice. Kikyou's unexpected appearance might be their only chance to destroy Naraku and escape this prison for good. Even Sango had said he must go.

And Sango's parting words might be her last request: _"If I'm going to die, then you must kill Naraku in my place."_

"Don't die, Sango," he muttered, but did not look back. He couldn't afford to look back, even for her. He did not know the way through the castle, so he could do little but follow Kikyou and hope for the best.

The miko seemed to know exactly where she was going. Miroku found himself wondering if she had been inside the castle before, but there was no opportunity to ask. Even if he had, Kikyou seemed wholly occupied with her task – as if she no longer even noticed his presence.

What she hoped to gain by appearing now, he could only guess. He could not begin to imagine why Naraku had allowed it… unless Kikyou herself had caused the barrier to disappear regardless of Naraku's wishes. If she had that much power…

Miroku fought against a surge of hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope could blind him to yet another trap. And yet it seemed utterly unwilling to die.

Naraku waited in the very heart of the castle. Long before they reached the room where he lurked, Miroku could sense the demonic presence, thick and oppressive in the air. Kikyou walked on, unaffected, while Miroku had to pause, struggling to recall the training that would enable him to withstand the onslaught. By the time he finally felt strong enough to carry on, Kikyou had passed through the doorway ahead and vanished into the gloom within.

When Miroku followed, he found Kikyou standing over Naraku. The monster that had haunted him for so many years had taken the form of a frail-looking young man resting on a futon, pale as if from chronic illness, though he was still recognizable as Miroku's captor. Giddily, Miroku wondered what would happen if he were to open the kazaana here and now. Would it be so simply ended? Could he really just suck Naraku in and have done with it?

Could he live with himself if Kikyou were destroyed by his actions?

And there was the unresolved problem of the Shikon no Tama to consider, as well. If he opened the kazaana, there was nothing stopping it from being consumed as well.

He'd nearly forgotten about the jewel during his captivity. Obtaining the jewel had always been secondary to survival, and the past few months had been no exception. But Kikyou drew an enormous piece of the jewel from the sleeve of her robe, and all the rumors of its power came rushing back to Miroku. How had she possibly amassed such a large portion of the jewel all by herself?

"You think to defeat me with the Shikon jewel?" Naraku asked. His voice was strong and smug, belying his fragile appearance.

"I warned you, Onigumo," Kikyou said.

Onigumo must have been another of Naraku's aliases. Miroku refused to let curiosity get the better of him. Instead he inched along the far wall, taking advantage of Naraku's preoccupation with Kikyou to get into a better position from which to attack. Without his ofuda or shakujou, he had few options left if required to fight.

He thought that he could muster up some of his old spiritual power, but without his staff or one of his sealing sutras to channel the power through, he was not sure it would be of any use. The only weapon that remained to him was the kazaana, and his only hope of using it was getting Kikyou out of the way or putting Naraku between them.

His thoughts of victory died as Kikyou released her portion of the jewel and let it drop – right into Naraku's lap. Naraku grinned wickedly.

The very air seemed to pulse. Miroku winced. This was not just the oppressive youki coming from Naraku, this was…

Naraku withdrew a second chunk of Shikon shards from within the pocket sleeve of his own robe. Miroku did not want to believe that the two pieces might make a whole, but there was no denying it. The strange, vibrating sensation in the air was caused by the two pieces of the jewel.

The Shikon no Tama wanted to be whole.

"No!" he shouted an instant too late.

Naraku held one half of the jewel in each hand. When he released them, they drifted up into the air, buoyed by their own power and the imperative to form a whole. Brilliant light flashed. When Miroku dared open his eyes again, the jewel was no longer in two halves. It was a single, perfectly round gem.

It was in this form, Miroku knew, that the jewel's power was most potent.

The jewel hovered in midair, as if it were not bound by the same laws of nature that governed everything else. Nearly one half of the gem was a pale purple color that glowed faintly. The rest of the jewel roiled with clouds of violet so dark that they might have been black. The same color as Naraku's poisonous miasma.

Miroku wondered frantically what Kikyou thought she was doing by bringing the jewel here. The light half of the jewel was clearly being purified by Kikyou's power, the dark half tainted by Naraku's hate. Which would win? It seemed that the larger part of the jewel was dark and the rest growing darker by the second. Could Kikyou, this revenant Kikyou with her body made not of flesh but of graveyard soil, really be strong enough to purify the jewel in spite of Naraku's taint?

If he concentrated, he could feel her power, too. She was more subtle than Naraku, but her power was there beneath the youki.

"It's yours," Kikyou said at last, as if she had not heard Miroku's outcry at all. Her voice was haughty. Angry. "Use the jewel to fulfill your deepest wish. Become a full demon, Onigumo. Become Naraku in truth."

Miroku had not been expecting a barb like that. All this time, Naraku hadn't even been fully a demon?

Naraku glowered at Kikyou, looking threatening despite the obvious frailty of his current body. Was that an act, too? "What would you know of my deepest wishes, Kikyou?"

"I know your past, Onigumo," she said, using that name again. Miroku was beginning to wonder if it were not an alias, but in fact Naraku's original name. "I was the one who cared for you when no one else would."

Miroku felt sick. She had cared for Naraku, and helped him in the past? If that were true, he had misjudged her terribly. He should have just seized Sango and run when they had the chance, and left Kikyou to whatever scheme she was cooking up with Naraku. Maybe there was still time.

Naraku reached up and grabbed the jewel out of the air. As his hand closed around the jewel, Miroku braced himself for the worst. As much as he might wish to escape, that wasn't an option just yet.

Kikyou smiled coldly. She did not move, even as Naraku drew the jewel down toward him. Miroku stayed where he was, rooted to the spot and transfixed by what was going on in front of him. Naraku held the jewel for the space of two heartbeats, and then a brilliant white light flashed through the chamber. This flare was even more intense than the one that had preceded the jewel's reformation. Even though he looked away, Miroku feared that he might be at least temporarily blinded by its brilliance.

When at last the flare had faded and Miroku thought it would be safe, he cracked open his eyes again. Kikyou seemed unaffected but most of what had been Naraku was gone. His hand still remained gripped around the jewel, but it was no longer attached to his body. His head, too, was intact, floating almost lazily in the air just where it had been before his body was destroyed. What remained of the rest of him lay in a charred heap on the floor.

"You will not defeat me so easily, you incorrigible bitch," he spat perfectly calmly at Kikyou.

Suddenly Miroku began to understand just how daunting an enemy his grandfather had crossed all those years ago. It hit him just how difficult the quest that had been passed down to him had been, though he'd often treated it as a joke. Naraku's body had been obliterated in one blow, and yet he was still acting as if he would win this battle. And it seemed to Miroku that he might not be wrong.

Kikyou remained impassive. She had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, but made no move to use them.

_Why did she allow me to follow her?_ Miroku wondered. There seemed to be nothing here that he could do.

He paused, staring hard at Naraku. It almost felt as if… Yes, he decided. The oppressive aura was withdrawing. Knowing better than to think this was a sign that Naraku was truly as weakened as he appeared, Miroku braced himself for an attack. If Kikyou was aware of any of this, she gave no sign. She stood as stoically as ever, staring Naraku down with an implacable calm that Miroku envied. He felt ready to start jumping at shadows, while she had an unerring sense of purpose.

Abruptly, a new body burst forth from the remains of Naraku's human neck. This was no human body, however. Although the torso was humanlike and two human-looking arms grew from the shoulders, one of them rejoining with the severed hand that still gripped the jewel, that was where the similarities with a human body ended. The rest of that body was the stuff of Miroku's nightmares: from the waist descended a swarm of thick tentacles with sharp spines at each tip, tentacles made for impaling Naraku's victims.

Miroku had faced a similar tactic – and lost – before awaking in this place as a prisoner. He had only vague memories of that fight, but he did remember the certainty that he'd been impaled by one of the tentacles that had inexplicably sprouted from Naraku's body; terror shot through his veins and phantom pain rippled through his torso, even though he now had only a small scar to show where he had been injured.

This time, he did not think that Naraku meant to keep him alive.

Kikyou was calm in the face of this deadly new development. Ignoring Miroku as if he were as inconsequential as he felt, Naraku struck at Kikyou with the tentacles. To Miroku's astonishment, she did not so much as flinch.

Her confidence was well-founded. Not a single one of the tentacles had made a move to stab her. They'd merely wrapped around her, squeezing wrists and ankles and slim waist, pulling her up into the air along with Naraku. She was so certain that Naraku would not harm her, and indeed, he really did seem unwilling to cause her harm; Miroku wondered what sort of history they had. A miko and the monster that had so cruelly cursed his family for not one but several generations… He could not think of a more unlikely story.

Kikyou unleashed a blast of power, much like the one that had been released when Naraku tried to claim the jewel. This one was weaker than the first, but still served to free her from Naraku's grasp.

Miroku did not wait for an invitation. He pulled away the rosary that sealed the kazaana and leveled it at Naraku. Floating in the air as he was, Naraku had nothing to brace himself against. The pull of the kazaana dragged him inexorably closer, though far more slowly than Miroku would have liked. He was able to fight that pull somehow.

"Still meddling, houshi?" Naraku sneered.

Past Naraku, Miroku could see Kikyou beginning to slip across the floor. She, too, would be pulled into the kazaana if he wasn't careful. He told himself that she was no longer human anyway, merely the reanimated soul of a woman long dead, and kept the kazaana open and fixed on Naraku. If Kikyou and the jewel were drawn into the abyss along with Naraku, what did it matter? Even as he thought it, Miroku knew he couldn't go through with it.

And then Naraku took the choice away.

One of the remaining tentacles shot toward him, too quickly for him to dodge. He moved sluggishly out of the way, but the tentacle speared his hand just beyond the edge of the kazaana and pinned it to the wall at his back.

Horrified, Miroku expected that soon the kazaana would tear open even further, consuming not just Naraku and Kikyou, but also everything else in the vicinity. All that had been left after his father's demise was a crater outside the temple where Mushin lived. He did not know where this castle was located, but he suspected it was somewhere remote. Would anyone ever find the crater left in the wake of his death?

But the kazaana disappeared as inexplicably as it had first appeared after his father's death, leaving only the spike jammed through his palm.

_Can't have me using your own curse against you, can we?_ Miroku thought, delirious with pain. The spike through his palm was embedded in a wooden support beam and he couldn't seem to pull it free. He was pinned, unable to help Kikyou. Useless. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to use that hand again, but the kazaana was _gone_…

"Use the jewel, Onigumo," Kikyou goaded from somewhere behind Naraku. Miroku forced himself to tear his eyes away from his hand – his whole hand, free of the kazaana after all these years! – and saw that she had her bow in her hand and an arrow nocked, the string drawn back, ready to fire. "Become a full demon so we can finish this."

Naraku laughed, a deep, bone-chilling sound. "You still think my deepest wish was to become a full demon, Kikyou?"

He lowered himself to the ground, tentacles becoming human legs. When the tentacle attached to the spine pinning Miroku to the wall withdrew, it left the spine behind. He was just as trapped as he had been before.

As Naraku returned to his superficially human form, Miroku realized with shock that being part-human was the only thing stopping Kikyou from destroying him completely. She couldn't purify him into oblivion if he were only part youkai. He was relying on that, refusing to become a full youkai because it would make him easier for her to kill. But being part human made him vulnerable, too. Miroku lacked all of his customary weapons, but brute force could kill a human, too.

The spine through his hand was well and truly embedded in the support beam, and it resisted his attempts to pull it free. The pain was near to blinding, but he had dealt with pain before, the constant ache of the kazaana in his palm had rendered him more resistant to its effects than an ordinary man would have been. He worked at it, at once patient and frantic, and thought he felt it loosen ever so slightly.

"Kikyou," Naraku said, striding toward the miko. "My deepest wish was never to be a full youkai."

Naraku flinched in an uncharacteristic show of pain an instant before her arrow took him in the forehead. Light flared again, burning his body away.

He remained focused entirely on Kikyou. "My deepest wish was to be free of my disgusting feelings for you," he spat.

All that remained of him now was his head, and the hand that was protected by the jewel. The only parts of him that Kikyou couldn't purify away.

Miroku, ignored up until now even as he worked his way free of the trap, seized the head with his right arm and stabbed Naraku's own spike through one of the eye sockets as hard as he possibly could. The light went out of Naraku's remaining eye immediately, the head beginning to dissolve even as Miroku gripped it harder.

It felt good to destroy that monster. Too good.

Miroku released what remained of Naraku and watched it crumble into ash.

Nearby, Kikyou retrieved the jewel. The dark portion remained, but it had shrunk in size considerably. When Kikyou touched it, the violet overwhelmed the dark.

Miroku watched her, blood dripping from his wounded hand onto the floor mats, and thought that victory should have felt more like victory.

"That was not his true body," Kikyou said after a moment.

At first, Miroku did not want to believe her. But with concentration, he could feel it, too. The oppressive feeling had faded, but it was not entirely gone. Some part of Naraku still existed. And suddenly Miroku knew where. "Sango."

Kikyou took off as soon as Miroku began to speak the name; her speed told him she knew he was right.

Sango was pregnant, or had been... and that was where they would find what was left of Naraku.

Miroku ran after Kikyou, his thoughts racing as quickly as his beating heart, and did not slow down until he had reached the now-familiar corridor where he knew he would find Sango. He froze at the sight of her, lying motionless on the floor of the kitchen not far from where he had left her. She was perfectly still. There was no sign of Naraku, but there was blood, so much blood.

The grisly sight did not stop Kikyou. The undead priestess moved smoothly, pausing to kneel beside Sango, seemingly heedless of the blood that seeped into her hakama where her knees touched the floor. But her attention was not on the other woman, but the mass of congealed, bloody flesh that lay beside her.

"Clever, Naraku," Kikyou murmured, pressing a finger deep into the mass, which twitched violently at her touch before bursting outward in a shimmer of light and ash. Immediately, the remaining oppressive youki began to fade. "Hiding your heart inside this human woman. Clever, but not clever enough."

Miroku thought he would be sick. What Naraku had so carefully cultivated within Sango was no child, nor merely her unending despair, but the very heart of his evil being. She had borne that pain for so long… and he had been the one that convinced her to keep living, so many times. He knelt beside her, gently touching her face. She was so cold, so still…

_I'm so sorry, Sango._

With Naraku's heart destroyed, Kikyou turned her attention to the woman lying on the floor. From the amount of blood soaked into the mats on the floor, Miroku hardly dared to hope that she might have survived her ordeal. And then he realized that she must have, because one of the metal cooking pots had been pulled off of the pile; it was covered in gore where she had tried to smash the life out of the hideous mass she had given birth to.

"She breathes," Kikyou murmured. He glanced at the miko and was suddenly aware of the fine cracks that covered her clay face. Had those always been there? Or were they new? He could not remember.

"Kikyou-sama."

"I can do nothing for her."

After all this time and all her suffering... for Sango to die _now_ was unacceptable. "There must be something we can do."

"Take her," Kikyou instructed. "There are others waiting outside. They may be able to help you."

Miroku did not stop to question Kikyou's orders. Each second saw more of Sango's precious life drain away. He pulled her into his arms as delicately as he could and staggered to his feet. She was limp and awkward against him, and as slick with blood as his wounded, useless right hand; his heart beat fast with fear. He did not wait for Kikyou, but ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

He did not know precisely where he would find an exit, but he knew which direction Kikyou had entered the castle from, and that was the way he went. He had not gone far before he came to a large hall that opened onto the outside. There, he slowed. It seemed suddenly to him that this had to be a dream or a trick of some sort. Surely they would not be able to pass through that doorway and into the outside world. Surely they could not truly be free...

But he crossed the threshold without difficulty or pain. For a moment he paused to stare around him in disbelief, and then a voice cried his name.

Disbelief did not begin to describe what he felt, gazing upon Shippou for the first time in months. He half expected to see Inuyasha and Kagome with the young kitsune, even though Sango had assured him the two were dead. Inuyasha and Kagome were absent, but Shippou was not alone; Miroku could see Myouga sitting on the kitsune's shoulder, and Shippou in turn was perched on the shoulders of a great sabre-toothed cat. The same cat, Miroku realized that had carried him off and helped him do battle with Naraku just before his capture. He had assumed the creature had been one of Naraku's minions, or else had been slain in the battle, but now he was glad to see he had been wrong.

Then, the cat had swept him off his feet and seemed almost to fly. Perhaps now, it could...

The cat rumbled quietly. Its enormous eyes were filled with sadness as it strode over to where he was standing.

"It is done?" Myouga asked.

"Yes. Naraku is gone. And Kikyou is..." Miroku trailed off, glancing back. There was no sign of Kikyou and he was too exhausted to go back and look for her. Somehow he did not think she would ever emerge from that castle. The cracks he'd seen in the clay of her face… she'd already begun to fall apart even as she destroyed Naraku's heart.

The great cat butted its head against Sango's limp hand and rumbled again.

"This is Kirara," Myouga explained. "She was Sango's partner before Sango became Naraku's pawn."

"Kirara," Miroku repeated absently, wondering how that long-past battle might have gone differently if Sango had seen her partner helping the people she had been fooled into believing were enemies. "Kikyou said that you could help…"

"Kirara can fly," Shippou proclaimed, eying Sango warily. "And Myouga says she used to carry Sango into battle."

"Then maybe she will be willing to get us out of here," Miroku mused. His heart pounded; he hardly dared to hope. It still seemed that they could not possibly have defeated Naraku, yet they had. He expected the kazaana to reappear in his palm at any moment, but it did not.

The great cat rumbled again and lowered her head. Shippou helped Miroku drape Sango carefully over her back, then Miroku climbed onto Kirara's back behind Sango. He told himself it was just like mounting a horse, but it was nothing like mounting a horse. Horses were solid and sturdy. Kirara by contrast seemed almost made of air, as if she might float away at any moment.

And as soon as they were settled, she did exactly that. Flames swirled around her legs and twin tails, carrying them up into the air.

When they were well and truly aloft, drifting above the castle at a dizzying height, she twisted her head back and rumbled at him again.

"She wants to know where we should go," Shippou translated glumly. His eyes were locked on the limp young woman between him and Miroku.

The monk hesitated.

His first frantic thought was to take her to Mushin. The old monk had always been able to see to Miroku's hurts, even those that stemmed from the cursed kazaana in his palm. Mushin had been like a second father to Miroku, and the urge to fly from this place of torment to the comfort of the familiar was strong. And yet, it seemed that the old monk's temple might seem like trading one prison for another to Sango. It was quiet and peaceful, but also isolated and isolating. At Mushin's temple, it would be just the three of them until Sango recovered enough to travel.

He could take her instead to the nearest village and hope to find help among strangers. In her condition, they would not turn Sango away, though they might look askance on the haggard looking man that turned up with her claiming to have saved her from an evil youkai. He had always been quick-witted and his charm had seldom failed him. Somehow he did not think that charm would serve him well right now.

And then he had it: he would take her to the place Inuyasha and Kagome had called refuge. If the old miko Kaede still lived, she was a skilled healer and she was no stranger to Miroku. And she would want to know what had become of the hanyou and his young companion.

For a moment he struggled to remember the right way. Kaede's village had never been anything like a home to Miroku; he'd only ventured there because it _was_ home to Inuyasha and Kagome. But he focused his memories and eventually it came to him. "This way," he directed Kirara, and she flew obediently in the direction he'd indicated.

Taut silence fell over the group for a long time. After a while, Shippou couldn't resist asking, "We're saving her?"

Miroku nodded, suddenly too tired for speech. Fresh air surrounded them gently; the landscape spread out beneath them, rich and green. His long imprisonment seemed only a passing nightmare, except for Sango's labored breathing and bloodstained, makeshift clothing.

"But if she's the slayer from the village like Myouga says she is, that means she killed Inuyasha and Kagome!" Shippou burst out. There were angry tears in his eyes that made Miroku's heart ache anew for their lost companions. They had been friends for him, but they had been family for Shippou. "Why are we saving her?"

"She was blameless," Miroku told him. "Naraku tricked her into believing they were responsible for the destruction of her village and the deaths of her family."

Shippou's gaze drifted down to Sango again. He'd been very attached to Inuyasha and Kagome. Accepting Sango's actions would be difficult for him. It had been difficult for Miroku, too, but in the end he knew that Naraku was to blame. If things had fallen out differently, Sango might have been a powerful ally in their fight against Naraku.

Letting her die now would be one final victory for Naraku, and Miroku refused to let that happen.

 

The sun was setting when Kirara descended to land outside Kaede's hut. All things considered, Miroku was astonished that he had not only remembered the way, but hadn't passed out during the journey. His hand still leaked blood, though the flow was sluggish now.

"Kaede!" he called, slipping from Kirara's back as soon as they were on the ground. "Are you here?"

The miko emerged from the hut a few minutes later, looking harried and a bit cross until she recognized Miroku through the grime and gore. "The monk!" she gasped. "And Shippou. And some new… friends, I see. Where are Kagome and Inuyasha?"

"I can explain later," Miroku told her, feeling exhaustion threaten to overwhelm him as he pulled Sango from Kirara's back. She was so limp in his arms that he wondered if they were too late and she was already dead. "Right now this woman needs your help."

Kaede blanched, seeing how much blood had dripped over Kirara's shoulders and stained Miroku's robes during the flight. Then she steeled herself. "Bring her inside. I will do what I can."

"Thank you," Miroku breathed, relieved beyond words.

"She is close to death," Kaede warned. "I do not know if I can save her."

"All I ask is that you try," Miroku said, and hoped that tomorrow would not see him called to tend to Sango's lifeless body.


	9. Chapter 9

Sango did not expect to ever open her eyes again. But then, she had expected to die before, and she had been wrong before. She supposed it was only a matter of course that she would be wrong again.

She opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. She was no longer in Naraku's castle, but she could be certain of nothing else. The dark, oppressive atmosphere of the castle was gone. Instead this building felt almost peaceful.

Seeing that she was awake, the woman who had been tending the hearth came over to see to Sango. The woman was very old, but her face was gentle and she had a voice to match. "Ah, I'm glad to see you awake. We had thought you might die," she said, without bothering to explain who 'we' was.

Sango tried to say something, but her throat would not work.

"Rest now," the old woman said. "There will be time to talk later, but first you must get well."

Faced with this unexpected kindness, Sango was not sure what to do or say. Somehow, she knew instinctively that this place was _safe_, and it seemed almost as if everything she had been through in the past season had merely been a bad dream. Or it would have, but for the ache deep in her body.

She tried again to speak, but managed only a groan.

The old woman knelt beside her. "Shh, rest now. You are safe here."

Sango believed her.

 

As the days crept by, Sango's strength slowly returned. At first she was able to do little more than lie in bed or sit beside the fire, but gradually she was able to walk about and help Kaede with some simple chores. The most disconcerting thing about it was that she was free to come and go as she pleased.

She was aware of the other village women and the way they seemed slightly wary of her. Kaede had made her feel so welcome that it had been easy to forget she was a stranger in this place. And it wasn't just that. She'd come to the village bleeding and beaten, by all accounts dying, and she'd arrived on the back of a fearsome youkai.

And yet… someone came to visit her nearly every day. It was nearly always someone different, so that she might get to know the rest of the villagers. They might be wary, but they were concerned, too.

And when they heard from Miroku that she was a youkai exterminator, they became almost welcoming toward her.

 

It was several days before she got the story of Naraku's demise out of Miroku. She spent most of that time sleeping and resting in Kaede's hut, but she was awake enough to miss the monk's presence.

She knew he was the one that had brought her out of the castle and to this place where she could heal, but she had been worried about him nonetheless. Kaede had mentioned that he had been injured in the battle, as well. His right hand was bandaged, and he seemed unable to move the fingers, but he was otherwise in good spirits. And when he finished telling her the tale of the battle, he told her, "Kaede thinks it may yet heal. It's better than the kazaana, at any rate."

Later, when she was strong enough to spend part of each day helping Kaede in the garden, Miroku showed up unexpectedly, watching in silence as she made her slow way through the garden pulling weeds. "You're getting stronger," he noted. He sounded pleased.

She nodded and gave up on her weeding for the moment to go stand beside him. Looking at him, she felt so uncertain. He fit in easily here in a way that she felt she did not. In their isolation, she had not realized just how well he got along with people. In a way, it made it less surprising that he'd managed to convince her not to die on several occasions. "Miroku," she began, "What should I do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, in a tone that clearly said she should do whatever she liked now that she was free.

"My village is destroyed," she explained. "My people are gone. I have nowhere to go."

"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like," he told her, something ineffable in the tone of his voice. "They are used to strong women in these parts. The village elders have expressed interest in keeping a youkai exterminator around. I don't think they'd object if you decided to stay."

She sighed, wondering if it could really be so simple. If she could really live here in peace and quiet for the rest of her days. She wanted so badly to believe that she could. "And what about you? What will you do?"

"I don't know." She knew without looking at him that his gaze had shifted to his right hand, which was covered only by thick bandages, with no rosary in sight. "It's so strange... I suppose I'll be on my way soon, try to find a place to settle down." He shrugged, as if trying not to think too hard about any of it.

"Why not here?"

He smiled then, faintly. "Why not here?"


End file.
